


Hiraeth

by MistressDragonFlame



Series: Soulmarks [1]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Angst, F/M, Quasi-Alternative Universe, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-11-16
Packaged: 2020-11-24 07:29:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 29,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20903909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistressDragonFlame/pseuds/MistressDragonFlame
Summary: Itachi knew he was giving up a lot of things in his life when he followed that order to kill his clan. However, he didn’t think that he would one day face the loss of those things so neatly packaged into one pink haired woman.





	1. Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> Hiraeth is a Welsh word that means roughly, “Missing something that never was.” The characters in the story have all been aged up 6 years, to make the plot less creepy, and only minorly adjusted other factors related to that. Note, this is not a happy ending story.

“We got the tail again,” Kisame’s gruff voice broke their otherwise silence. They were walking through a minor city, returning to their lodging for the night after a meal. The city around them was alive, writhing with civilians traveling home to rest from a long days work or to the bars to drink away their long days work. They gave a wide berth to the two shinobi. 

Itachi’s eyes glanced at his partner, a flash of red under the wide brim of his hat. “Is it the same?”

“Seems to be,” Kisame nodded, the bell on the end of his tassel jingling with the motion. 

He frowned. They had been trying to lose this tail for a while. No matter what they did—and neither one were slouches when it comes to hiding their trail; if they didn’t want to be found they wouldn’t be—their pursuer was not deterred, or even slowed down, though they had not yet approached or ambushed them.

If it had been his little brother, Itachi would have been more accepting of their tail. But Sasuke was still with the snake Sannin, gaining what he believed to be the power to defeat him. Itachi hoped he hurried, since his illness was beginning to turn for the worst, and he probably didn’t have much longer. The medication was helping, but it was inevitable at this point. 

“I still think you should just talk to her and be done with it.” Kisame shifted his sword on his back, and gave a grumpy look from under his hat. After the second week of being pursued, Kisame had fallen back to circle around their tail. Instead of returning that evening to say, ‘No longer an issue’ as was his habit for when people started to follow them, he shrugged and told Itachi of a young woman who wished to speak with him. About what, she wouldn’t tell Kisame, but he reported that she seemed to be a little younger than Itachi was, pink haired with green eyes, wore an unmarked Konoha headband, and was in the early stages of pregnancy. Kisame had weird beliefs about attacking let alone killing pregnant women, and only did so as a last resort. As the woman had reportedly not attacked him at all, he had left her tied up and unconscious—but alive and otherwise unharmed. She had caught up to them less than a week later, despite the false trails they left.

Itachi knew that his little brother had been on a genin team with a kunoichi that matched her description, but hadn’t bothered to remember the girl’s name—she wasn’t from a clan, that was as much as he knew. He never personally met the woman, and had no reason to now. He had the brief thought that the pregnancy could have been his brother’s, but that wouldn’t explain how she got pregnant by him in the first place—Sasuke had not left the Land of Sound for years, and no one else had gotten in, even Itachi’s spies, let alone his brother’s former teammate who was rumored to be the apprentice of the current Hokage. Further, why would she search out _Itachi_? And, importantly, how did she keep finding him? If it was for her village unrelated to his brother, why was she alone? Konoha was not stupid enough to send the woman, a chuunin from reports, against _two_ Akatsuki members, out by _herself_, while _pregnant_. Kisame was particularly interested in her reasons, as he could rarely abide by a mystery left untouched, a trait carried over from his time in Mist’s cypher unit. 

“I have nothing to say to her.” He dismissed. He had severed nearly all ties with his village, and the only remaining one was Jiraiya, who didn’t even know it was Itachi feeding him information about the criminal organization Akatsuki. 

“Yeah, _but_ if you talk with her, find out what she wants, maybe she’ll stop tracking us.” He needled, not for the first time.

Itachi glanced at him again, saying nothing. 

“Look, I’d rather not remove her legs, and I will if she won’t stop following us. Besides, if anyone else finds out about her stalking habit, like Leader-sama, she’ll be killed right out and I just don’t want that to happen to a little fish.”

It wasn’t Pein that he was worried about finding out, but Madara. He would do a lot worse than simply kill her, especially if she was somehow connected to either Sasuke or himself. Or even if she wasn’t, and he just believed she was and that it could be used against either of them. 

Itachi stopped, and took a deep breath of the slightly dirty air, ignoring the sharp sting in his lungs. It would start to rain soon and clean the soot from the air, making it easier to breathe, but not entirely. He always had difficulties these days. Kisame stopped with him, and watched expectantly. He knew Itachi better than he was completely comfortable with, though they had an unspoken agreement about a lot of things, and they respected one another enough that it still worked. He closed his aching eyes for the briefest moment. 

“Fine,” He exhaled completely before he opened his gaze again, meeting the shark-like eyes of his partner, “Take me to her.”

Their direction changed smoothly, Kisame following Samehada’s sense of the woman’s chakra. They were led to a smaller hotel, near the center of town, but on the poorer side. The building was tall, but narrow, without visible balconies, and few windows. They entered into the lobby, and Kisame took the hat Itachi handed him. The clerk was obviously intimidated by them, and didn’t make any move to stop or question as Itachi turned to take the stairs alone. The town they were in had no resident shinobi; this close, he could sense her chakra himself and no longer needed his partner’s guidance. 

She was on the second to the top floor, in a room slightly larger than the average; likely a suite, but not the best one. He paused before the door, considering. She seemed to be by herself, as she had been since they first noticed her on their trail. The door was not trapped, and there was no hint of a genjutsu or ninjutsu around the edges of the door. His vision had deteriorated significantly, but the sharingan—both the cure and the poison—allowed him to see the details of the faded paint on the door and the brass handle that tilted a little too far down to be functioning perfectly, even if it was layered in a way normal vision didn’t work. 

Her chakra was suppressed, but only to the point where Itachi couldn’t properly gauge how much she had; a deliberate thing he knew well. He could feel it flicker slightly, just on the other side of the wall. Was it in anticipation? Fear? She obviously knew he was here, despite his own completely cloaked chakra and his silent steps. 

The door wasn’t locked. He turned the handle and pushed the door open. 

Itachi swept the room with his sharingan, looking for traps or tricks, but found nothing out of place. The room was a suite, as he suspected, with a separate sitting and sleeping area, and a tiny kitchen adjacent. It was older, but clean enough, though a crack in the wall spidered out near the ceiling. There were decorations in the room, designed to make it seem more homey than the usual hotel; a low shelf with a fake potted plant and photo, a thin table with a browning phone on top, and a few easily replaceable nicknacks scattered about. There was a larger window along the far wall, easily openable and not made with shinobi in mind. The woman sat at the single table, chair slightly pulled out to better face the door. 

She was a slight thing, with pink hair hanging just under her chin, tied back from her face with her unmarked Konoha headband. Her top was bright red, kimono style with a large black obi completely covering her abdomen from under her breasts to her hips, and narrow sleeves that flare out at the wrist. Her pants were simple and black, tied with white wrappings tucked into her sandals. She wore a medic-nin’s apron, colored a light pink, with pockets for her tools of the trade, though the utility belt that usually accompanied such was not immediately visible. She carried no visible weapons, not even a kunai pouch. She was beautiful, in a sweet, softer way unexpected in a ninja, who tended towards sharp edges even in their appearances. Strangely, there was a deep purple mark on her face, staining down her chin and curling underneath it. It didn’t look to be a scar or burn, and was oddly shaped to be a tattoo. It must be a birthmark, he concluded, though he couldn’t recall such from the graduation picture he had pilfered of his little brother’s genin team years ago. Maybe it was just an odd bruise. Jutsu markings were normally symmetrical, like the lighter purple flower-like one on her forehead (and _that_ was interesting all on its own).

Her stomach was only barely rounded, just on the beginning stage of her pregnancy—earlier than he was expecting from Kisame’s reaction. Probably first trimester, or early second. It may not have been noticeable at all, excepting that the obi was something he recognized as a piece of shinobi armor, specifically designed for pregnant women to protect their vulnerable midsection, and her hands were cupped protectively over her belly in the almost unique manner of women who carried children under their skin. 

He looked up and met her shockingly vibrant green eyes, and only allowed himself to blink once in surprise as she maintained eye contact with him. Her face wasn’t overly clear, the chakra/future/present layering effect of the sharingan preventing a perfect view of her face, but he could still tell her mouth was pressed tight as she looked at him in abject sorrow. 

“It is you,” she whispered, her voice breaking the silence of the room. She clutched her belly with more intensity.

Itachi didn’t allow his face to change, even if it was still mostly hidden behind his cloak’s neck opening. He stepped into the room finally, and closed the door behind him. 

She didn’t tense or react at all to being trapped in the same limited space as him, and he filed that thought away. She undoubtedly knew who he was, and what he had done; her position as his brother’s teammate would have made such knowledge common, let alone her position as the Hokage’s apprentice. Her lack of reaction to his proximity was... interesting. Foolish, but interesting.

He let the silence stretch as he watched her watch him, using his dwindling peripheral vision to further examine the room. He also took the opportunity to layer some genjutsu between them, not enough to catch her just yet, but could be activated with a flick of his finger. The carpet was old, but not worn, and there was a slightly stale smell. The rain outside had begun to fall, visible from the lone window. He noticed her bag, lying propped against the bed, with her discarded tool belt folded neatly next to it. A kunai and two shuriken holsters were placed there as well, as if purposefully put aside for his perusal. They were far enough away from her position that he knew she’d never reach them before he could get to her. 

When he was done examining the room and she still hadn’t said anything else, he spoke instead, “What do you want?”

He knew his sharingan were spinning lazily, maintaining the preparatory genjutsu, but she still showed no signs of fear meeting his gaze. He wondered if she even fully understood just how dangerous that was—Sasuke’s hadn’t been fully developed before he left, and Hatake’s was a shadow of what a real one could do, what _his_ could do. She couldn’t be stupid; a medic-nin couldn’t survive being so, let alone survive being apprenticed under the best medic-nin of their time. She was foolish, regardless.

“Confirmation,” Her voice was heavy with her emotions. She swallowed thickly before she continued. “I found in a bingo book that Uchiha Itachi was the sole person responsible for the slaughter of nearly the entire Uchiha clan, that he was an S-class nukenin, a member of the criminal organization Akatsuki, with a flee on sight order.”

He just blinked at her unexpected phrasing, cocking his head slightly as he continued to watch her. He knew exactly what his bingo book entry said, and knew that only two people alive today knew the truth about him and he didn’t want that to change. He remained silent. 

“Do you have it?” His eyes narrowed a fraction. She pressed on, her voice soft but holding a hint of desperation, “The mangekyou?”

He debated for a moment to reveal his doujutsu. Two of her teammates had intimate knowledge of his bloodline ability, since he had used it against them; she should be well aware not only of its existence, but of what it was capable of. Nevertheless, if she wished to look into death, he could easily oblige. 

His eyes twisted silently into the bladed tomoes of the highest level sharingan, her features finally sharpening completely into focus. He was able to watch as her hand came up to cup her mouth, detailed enough to see fingernails slightly chipped and broken, and to track the way the tears rolled down her cheeks. Finally, she looked frightened, but not nearly as scared as she should be. She looked closer to crushed, like the last bit of hope had been removed with this reveal. “I had thought…” Her voice caught, and she choked back a sob as he watched in perfect clarity. 

He allowed his eyes to remain in their form a heartbeat longer before dropping back into the lesser form of the sharingan, already feeling the headache brush against the back of his skull. It’d have been worse had he used any of his abilities, but he was long since used to the pain. 

Itachi turned from her then, not wanting to watch a strange woman cry. He took a few steps further into the room, feeling her eyes follow him, and stopped before one of the shelves as if the nicknacks there held his attention. The silence, only disturbed by her muffled whimpers, stretched long enough that he finally broke it himself. “How did you find me?”

She took a deep, audible breath, swallowing, and continued with a completely unexpected thread, “I am not from here.”

His eyes flicked back to her, and he saw her finally looking away from him, down towards her belly. He wondered what she meant by that; she was from Konoha, true, and they were currently in the Land of Rivers, but he didn’t think that’s what she meant, though he couldn’t pinpoint why. 

“I fell asleep one night at home, in my husbands’ arms, just over a month ago. It had been a normal day, before. I went to work at the hospital, he went to train, we had dinner, talked about the future.” Her voice broke a bit on the last word. She heaved another breath, inhaling through her nose to release from her mouth, a visible effort to calm herself. “I awoke in a bed not my own, alone, surrounded by pictures of myself that I could not remember being taken.”

Itachi kept his features turned away from her, though he remained focused on her every movement in case she turned hostile. There was an impersonal picture of a waterfall framed on the shelf, and in the dusty reflection of the glass he could just see her hand shake as it brushed back her pink strands. One of the things he learned in his time is to allow others to monologue; they usually revealed more than they meant to, if not interrupted. He was not rushed for time, so he granted her enough rope to hang herself with as he idly began gathering the dust with his fingertips. 

“I fled easily enough; there hadn’t been any guard posted where I awoke, it was a simple apartment. I was in Konoha, my home, but… not. I was in the civilian district rather than my clan’s. So I went h-home,” her voice stuttered, and Itachi pondered that it had been probably a genjutsu cast on her. Either to hide what had been, or to convince her what hadn’t had. It would have to have been fairly powerful, to have lasted since before she even pursued them, and to change her perception of her home so drastically. 

“When I got there, it—it was empty of everything but ghosts. The gardens were overgrown or dead, the buildings were beginning to crumble in disrepair. My home had been… the house was different. Furniture that we had replaced, the remodeling of the kitchen we did, stains of… I, I knew something was very wrong, so I went into defensive mode; I had to find out what was going on.”

He only knew of one clan home in Konoha that would have matched that description of abandonment and death, though he said nothing despite the unease he felt blooming in his chest. He glanced at her again, absently rubbing his fingers together to disperse the gathered dust on them. She caught the gesture, eyes moving to the now partially-dusted shelf, and her mouth twisted in a way he didn’t know how to interpret. He dropped his hand, letting his long sleeve fall to cover it. 

“The people I met… they were not _my_ people. People I lived next to, spoke with, fought alongside, for years were different. Strangers wearing family’s faces. They knew things that I didn’t, and didn’t know things I did. They—they told me my clan, _my family_, were dead as if it was old news, happened more than a decade past rather than the night before. I fled, knowing if I stayed they’d not trust me to be who I am more than I did them. I had to protect my child, so I _ran_.”

A stronger sense of disquiet moved through him, but he didn’t allow it to show. It took a very powerful user to convince someone for so long that their closest connections were false—a mangekyou user. He could think of only one other such person alive, but Madara had not even hinted of such capability. Shisui had been able to cast such a genjutsu, without the victim even being aware. But Shisui was dead, and he knew where his eyes were. Danzo would have no reason to send her to him, if that eye was even still functioning, and his crow was still safe.

Itachi shifted around the edge of the room to look out the window, seeing her track his motion even as she didn’t raise her head to look at him. It was a smart decision for her to escape from Konoha, from an outside standpoint. He was somewhat surprised she recognized it enough not to run to her master and seek help, as was possibly the techniques’ purpose. Ninja villages were always on the lookout for infiltrators, imposters who take over the lives of one of their own to steal secrets. If she hadn’t known the correct responses, the correct memories, she would have likely been interrogated without regards to her well being. He was uncertain how the Godaime would act, if it was suspected her own disciple had been compromised. Danzo, however… that was one who he knew very well, one who wouldn’t let a thing like attachment cloud judgement on a suspected infiltrator. If he hadn’t been the one to cast it on her, as Itachi doubted he was, he’d have made certain she disappeared and wasn’t seen again. 

“Naruto-kun found me by chance, of course; he always has amazing luck when it suits him. We spoke, argued, and he told me about the Uchiha, about Sasuke and his abandonment of Konoha, about _you_.” He noted the strange tone, “After he found out about my pregnancy, he… He promised to let me be, to try and prevent others from finding me, so I left him as well. I picked up a bingo book the first chance I could and… and read your entry.”

Itachi could see her in the reflection now better than he could from the picture frame. The night outside was dark, streetlamps and windows a glow, but not enough to prevent the almost mirror like reflection on the glass. She sat twisted in her seat, watching him with that particular look he knew too well; as if he had betrayed her personally. He had betrayed a lot of people, but she was not one of them. He owed her nothing.

“My husband is a _good man_,” she stressed, switching topics abruptly, “He loves his family, his clan, above all else. He’d do anything for them. He was so _excited_ to be a father,” she dropped her head, her face twisting harshly. She curled into herself, hunching over her belly protectively, “He was one of the most powerful shinobi in the village, and was being groomed to be the next Hokage. It had been his dream since he was young, to help foster peace in Konoha and the surrounding lands.”

He raised an eyebrow at that, the only expression he thus far allowed himself. He wouldn’t have paid any attention to nor cared about the personal life of his brother’s genin teammate, but he definitely would have heard of someone being prepped to take over from the Godaime Hokage. He wondered then how much of her mind was twisted from the genjutsu and how much was real. She certainly seemed like she believed it, her pulse and chakra matching her expression as she spoke. Her pregnancy also wasn’t faked; his sharingan could see the involuntary deviation of chakra around her belly that indicated gravidity, but the rest? How long has this technique been applied to her? For what purpose? And why did that cause her to seek him out to ask questions anyone from her village could answer?

She was looking at him again, eyes flickering over the visible part of his face in the reflection of the window as if expecting a response, but to what he didn’t know. His heart did twist slightly at the woman’s situation, at whatever cruel joke someone was playing on her—he didn’t know what gain someone would get to play it—but it was not his responsibility to solve it. In fact, he shouldn’t even be here in the first place. He should have just put her into a genjutsu the moment he entered the room, placing a compulsion on her to return home. Then Konoha would take her back and solve whatever thing that bound her mind… or would not solve it, but it would be out of his hands. 

He still didn’t do so now.

“You have not answered my question,” he spoke once more, after the silence had nearly swallowed the room. “How did you find me?”

Her eyes dropped, disappointment clear. She heaved a breath before speaking, “There is something else different about this place. In my… where I came from, we have soulmates. It’s as common, and defined as the sun rising.” He couldn’t help himself but frown slightly at the non-sequenture, and turned to face her again in disbelief. The concept was not new to him, but it was better delegated to the romance novels he used to see his mother read. Soulmates didn’t exist, did she expect him to believe something so outlandish? “It’s one of the ways I knew something was very wrong when I awoke; everyone, even those I knew intimately who had not found their soulmate yet, were missing their marks, or had married different people. No one even knew what I was talking about, even in my travels so far.

“My husband was my soulmate. We met when I was fifteen, and we have been together since.” She touched her right wrist, and took a breath, “Soulmates, once they bond, tend to develop… abilities, particularly among the shinobi. Some gain the chakra reserves or the control of the other, some get a type of empathy between them. It’s different between each pair.”

As she took another breath, catching slightly on the way in, Itachi kept his own smooth with effort. His instincts were prickling, warning him of a closing trap he couldn’t yet see. 

“For me and my husband…” she raised her gaze and locked eyes with him, bright green clashing with blood red, “No matter where we traveled, we could always find one another.”

Itachi went utterly still. “No.”

“Your favorite dessert is dango and cabbage is your favorite vegetable. You prefer rainy days to sunny, because you like how the rain smells and how quiet it can get. You’re shy, which people tend to think as you being standoffish, but you have a dry sense of humor for those who are close to you. You’re fastidious, and cleaning things calms you. You twirl a kunai in your hand when you read, but not when you read mission reports. Your favorite thing to wake up to in winter is a fresh layer of snow outside from a warm bed.”

He didn’t even realize he moved until his back struck the shelf against the far wall, causing the weak fixture to tumble to the ground with a clatter. He didn’t know how she learned those facts about him, those _absurd_ facts that would not be recorded anywhere because they held no value, facts that _no one alive_ still knew about him. His eyes hadn’t been good enough to read for pleasure in longer than he’s been partnered with Kisame. 

“I am _not_ your husband,” he hissed fiercely. His breath was coming in harshly, his eyes spinning, his heart thumping rapidly in his chest. Was it a jutsu to learn these from him? No, his eyes would have seen the chakra used long before it came into effect on him. Bloodline ability? He had never heard of such a thing, and this would have been something his village would have cultivated, and he’d have known about it. Without his conscious decision, his gaze dropped down to her stomach, and he recoiled again, his mind jerking to that horrifying conclusion, “I am **_not_**_ your husband!_”

She continued, her voice breaking over a sob, dropping her face again as if she couldn’t bare to look at his blatant rejection, “You correctly guessed Sasuke’s gender before his birth, despite your parents certainty of a girl.” She breathed in sharply, tears in her voice, “You said to me that you wished for a girl, but that you’re sure we’re having a boy.” 

He appeared before her in a blink, one hand yanking her from her seat by her shirt, the other gripping her chin and forcing her to look at him. She cried out in shock at his sudden movement, and he calculated he had a half second before she got her wits back to her and reacted. He knew exactly how to sever the genjutsu cast on her, if only temporarily, to get to the real reason she was here. Was it Madara? They had an agreement between them, an uneasy peace. Why would he do this? How much did he know about him? Was this an attempt to trick him? Lay a trap with an outlandish story, a sympathetic bait, and try to ensnare him? For what?

Fool that she was, she still met his eyes without fear. “Tsukuyomi.” 

**XXXXX**

In his ultimate genjutsu, he controlled everything. Other jutsu, voluntarily or involuntary, couldn’t affect anything unless he allowed it. He knew when people lied to him, he knew when they were hiding things from him, he sensed their emotions, their desires, their fears. 

He had her bound with thick iron, forced into a bowed kneeling position at his feet. She initially resisted out of instinct, startlement at the sudden change, though he would not allow her even an inch. “This is my Tsukuyomi,” he told her, keeping his voice detached as he hadn’t been able to in the room. She tensed completely as he spoke, breath harsh against the blackened ground. “There is no escape from this unless I allow it.” He shook his hand, trying to dispel the odd tingling from his fingers. 

He walked around her, keeping his steps even, smooth. She settled into her position, trembling from stress, and though he made two circuits around her, she didn’t say anything, just breathed harshly. While not visible from her positioning, he knew tears were still falling down her face, though she didn’t start to plead with him as so many others had. He didn’t allow a frown that wanted to show itself. “Tell me who sent you.”

“No one sent me.” Her voice was rough, but firm. Honest. 

“Tell me how you knew those things.” Itachi absently flexed his wrist, making another circuit of the woman.

“You told me.”

He lashed out as quick as a blink, stabbing down with a katana close enough to her face that some of her hair was cut free from her brow. The blade buried itself into the floor, and he left it there, even as she flinched out of instinct away from it. “I do not appreciate liars.”

“I am not lying.” Her voice was shaking, but she was telling the truth, as far as she knew. 

His genjutsu circumvented _everything_ else, even another mangekyou’s doujutsu. He had eliminated previous spies from Madara using it, even if they hadn’t even been aware of the elder Uchiha’s contact. 

“So you believe you have been transported from a different reality from this one? Just one day awoke here?”

“Yes.” She said, tasting of the truth even as he rejected it.

He supposed hadn’t yet encountered true brainwashing in this ability that he had been aware of. Someone could have worked this girl over, convinced her of the falsities using non-jutsu techniques, so much so that they replaced her reality. In ANBU, he was taught how to counteract such by putting something she felt extremely strongly about against whatever lies she had been told. He didn’t think she was scared enough, as he rotated his elbow. Perhaps she needed stronger motivation.

He changed the world in a blink, wrapping one hand around her neck firmly, while the other held a kunai to her navel. He felt her jerk, felt the vibration in her throat against his thumb as she choked back a scream before she went still as he threateningly pressed the blade against where she was most protective, hard enough to just pierce the skin. Her hands were bound against her chest, locked out of the way, and her feet only touched the floor enough to give her the slightest grip with her toes as he held her in an arch against him. “No, no, please.” Finally, she begged. 

“I have no qualms with killing kin,” he lied, keeping his voice as smooth as silk. She wouldn’t have been able to tell, not in his Tsukuyomi, nor even in real life no matter her claim. Itachi had always been a very good liar. His shoulder itched. “Even if your story is true, what good were you looking for, seeking me out?”

She shook, forceful enough it was reflected in her voice, “I... I just had to _know_. Please, no. I couldn’t just—he was my _husband_. Please don’t, please!”

He breathed once, testing her level of fear, desperation, and honesty. “Your curiosity is sated. I am not your husband.” With that he stabbed through, feeling her scream as much as hearing it. 

His heart hurt. 

**XXXXX**

He broke the Tsukuyomi and shoved the woman away in the same motion. He turned and began to leisurely walk away, even as she cried out like a wounded animal, collapsing to the ground behind him in a clatter of her overturned chair. He felt her chakra activate for the first time, trying to heal the stab wound that was not there. 

He paused before he exited the room, looking over his shoulder at her. She was finally was too scared to meet his gaze, keeping her face averted with her pink strands casting a shadow over her eyes. She had raised one hand and held her chin, tears dripping down. 

“Do not follow me again.” He waited for her to nod, then left as easily as he came, clicking the door shut behind him. 

He was just as silent going down the stairs as he had been coming up them. He walked into the lobby, and Kisame perked up from where he was chatting with an overly made up woman, likely a whore. The former Mist ninja paused mid-sentence, then flowed towards him without a backwards glance, leaving the woman huffing behind him at her failed mark. Itachi made it out the door and into the downpour outside before he caught up, not even a spare thought to wait for his rain hat.

Itachi was very, very good at masking his emotions. It was what helped him be such a good liar, even in a world trained to look for them. 

Kisame, however, had known him for a long time, and searched out secrets and truths like a shark after blood. “So I take it she didn’t want to chat about the weather?”

Itachi didn’t even glance at him, walking with determination towards the other side of town where they had taken their residence for the evening. “She will no longer follow us.”

Normally, Kisame would have pressed, egging for details, seeking an end to the mystery. But this time, he just looked at him, and let the silence to fall. Itachi couldn’t even bring himself to mind that he was allowing his disquiet to show, he was just grateful for the silence. He inhaled slowly, deeply and painfully, breathing in the fresh scent of the rain in the quiet of the night.

He could sense where she was.


	2. Burning

Itachi very strongly considered killing her those initial few days after their meeting. It would hardly be the first time he killed his… he killed innocents. Madara had killed the children of the clan, the ones Itachi never could bring himself to do back when he was thirteen. He wasn’t thirteen anymore. He didn’t even know this woman and the fetus could hardly be called a child at this stage. There was still a strong possibility that this was all a trap, anyway. A test. Or it wasn’t, and she was just insane. Or it was all true, and Madara found out about her. It would be kindness, then, if he killed her before that happened. 

He did nothing instead. 

She did not follow them again, or even move in their direction after their encounter. He couldn’t quite understand how he knew where she was—it wasn’t a sense he used before. It wasn’t chakra, which he could define clearly to type and level, but was limited to within a few dozen meters. It wasn’t sight or sound, or that just _off_ sense of someone watching you that you only developed when people who wanted you dead watched you long enough. He just _knew_, the direction and the distance. He knew it intimately, like he knew where his left hand was, even as he went to sleep, then awoke and the location had changed. He understood how she had been able to find them so easily, despite their attempts. 

Kisame didn’t bring her up again. Itachi was grateful. 

Unfortunately, it seemed as if whatever horrible fate brought her here was not quite done with him, because she did not return to Konoha, and God took notice. 

“Another order of business,” the shadowed form of their so-called leader said, after the usual missions and orders were doled out. Itachi and Kisame were standing in the cavern in person along with Zetsu, Sasori and Deidara, rather than their typical projections, as they had come to rain to deliver their cargo. And Itachi could also make an unspoken trip to the medic in Amegakure proper. His cough had been acting up worse than usual, and he’d need to seek an actual doctor and not just the pharmacist he most often went to in Wave country. “There is a strange shinobi at the edge of my territory.”

Itachi did not allow himself to even twitch, as he knew exactly who Pein was talking about. He knew she had settled in Rain, the foolish girl. It had only been a matter of time. 

“From the reports, she is a medic, and her actions seem to indicate a longer stay than just passing through. Pink hair, young, alone. Seems to be Konoha in origin, though her current loyalty is unknown.” 

Itachi felt eyes on him, but he didn’t turn to look. He knew it was because the group always looked towards the closest village relation they had for any additional information, not because of any known connection between them. Kisame left the reports to him, and he had never reported her or her habit. It was not an uncommon occurrence for an Akatsuki member to be followed, after all, and it was only reported if there would be an issue presented to the group as a whole. 

He said nothing now, either. 

“May be useful, yeah,” Deidara spoke up first, as he usually did. “Good medic-nin are hard to come by, and Konoha trained even more, yeah.”

“There has not been an update made into the Konoha Bingo book recently, nor was there a Bingo entry previous in regards to a pink haired female Konoha medic from the other villages, so she likely doesn’t have a bounty anywhere,” Kakuzu stated gruffly. “Weak and worthless.”

“She may be dangerous,” Sasori disagreed, his bulky puppet a hunched figure in the dark, “Tsunade-hime could have trained her, so she’d be deadly at close range but possibly a well trained medic-nin for it. She might be a spy, sent to lure us into a trap of taking her in for her medical abilities.”

“Her placement is curious,” Pein agreed, “Though it could be coincidence. She has not moved from her location since she arrived, and she entered from the border of Fire. She has set up a small medical center and accepts goods in exchange for her services. Not exactly subtle if she was sent from her village.”

“We can check it out,” Kisame offered, “It shouldn’t take long to travel there, and perhaps a friendly face will assist in finding out what she wants,” he gestured to Itachi with one hand, a shark-like grin sneaking across his face with a hint of malice. 

Itachi glared at his partner, but said nothing. Responding in any other way would only draw undue attention. 

Pein considered a moment, his rinnegan unblinking as he stared at Kisame. Itachi forced himself to maintain his breathing, even as his cough threatened to choke him. “See if she is an issue,” he decided, “Remove her if necessary, otherwise she may be useful to us.”

“Yes, Leader-sama,” Kisame bowed, and Itachi mimicked, accepting the order without a word spoken. 

They were dismissed, and they turned to leave without further comment. Deidara and Sasori were pulled aside to talk to Pein, and so they were not approached again before they departed from the cave. 

They headed towards the border of Fire without a word, though Itachi could feel his partner’s gaze as much as the burn in his lungs. He should have known better than to think that Kisame wouldn’t take the first opportunity to unravel the mystery of this woman. It was probably equal parts the puzzle she presented, and Itachi’s reaction to her that drove the sharkman. 

He didn’t want to be going to her, he never wanted to see her again. However, he didn’t want her to be under the Akatsuki’s control, nor did he think it would end well if another member was the one to seek out the reason she was here. He didn’t want her to be _here_, instead of Konoha, where she was from—whatever or wherever that place really was. Itachi had long since given up most of the things he wanted in life, why did fate have to be so cruel to force these wants onto him, only to ensure they could never come to being?

The stress and their running eventually forced them to stop for a breather. Kisame watched without comment as Itachi coughed and spit bloody phlegm, his eyes unreadable. They never discussed Itachi’s illness, and Kisame let him alone enough to easily get his medications without overview, though the former Mist ninja made concessions that equated acknowledgement long before it got to this point. 

Itachi eventually stopped coughing, and sat to recover against a tree. The rain around them was falling in a constant sheet out of the heavy branches, smothering the outside world. He took the last of his pills, a full two weeks earlier than they should have lasted. 

“How much longer to go, do you think?” His partner asked, voice only reflecting a brief curiosity. A surprisingly normal question. What was he really after?

“Less than an hour,” He replied, his voice bland. He knew she felt him the same as he felt her, so he was surprised that she hadn’t started to flee already as their distance had closed in, too direct to be a coincidence. He had hoped that she would have fled, after their last encounter. 

“Hm,” Kisame replied, then fell silent. Itachi sensed his appraisal again, but he didn’t even bother moving from his position. Let him think what he will, he’d never guess the truth.

They eventually got up and continued on, and as he said, they arrived at the edge of the village within the hour, where the rain just barely fell. It was almost effortless to find her now, not even counting his strange sense, because she was the only shinobi in the area. The village was about two hours of travel from the border of Fire, along a river. It wasn’t small, but it was far from well developed. 

Villagers, scraggly things typical of the Land of Rain, watched them with trepidation, but didn’t move to approach let alone stop the two Akatsuki members going through, even as they headed towards the makeshift medical clinic. No matter the possible loyalty they felt towards the woman for healing them, it had only been for a short time and they knew their God sent Akatsuki to dole his judgement. 

The building they came to was a former factory, long since shut down. The woman had likely just found an empty place and moved in, though it spoke intention that she chose a larger facility than a smaller one to set up in. Itachi wondered how powerful of a medic she was. 

She was standing in the middle of the first room they entered. It was a large entry room, as the outside indicated, but was otherwise deserted. There were a few rickety looking chairs, and a dilapidated coffee pot on a table with a few disposable cups, something that more cleanly defined this has a hospital waiting room than the industrial pipes and support beams that snaked overhead. 

She looked a little less tidy than she did the first time, but she still stood defiantly. Her obi was let out just a bit more, and notably there was a very large ax next to her, longer than the length of her body and probably just as heavy. Sasori’s warning came to mind, though Itachi couldn’t think of the Godaime preferring any weapons, so he wondered if it was more desperation than any skill with it. His eyes flickered to look at the lavender colored jutsu mark on her forehead, five duplicitous diamond marks almost in a flower shape. He wondered if that was what he thought it was, the Seal of the Hundred technique, even if such a feat would have resulted in her entry into the bingo books by itself. It was all the more stark now on her brow, since the strange mark on her chin was gone. His hand tingled with a ghost sensation, and he clenched it within his sleeve. 

She didn’t raise her eyes from their feet when she asked, in an almost reversal to their last meeting, “What do you want? I assume you’re not here for the coffee.”

Itachi very much felt the regard of his partner, as he narrowed in on every reaction and non-reaction between them. He had to keep this short. “You are not welcome here. You have twenty minutes to leave, before I burn this place down until even the stone is ash.”

She went still, a hand on the handle of the great ax, and her eyes raised to stare at where his clavicle was under his cloak. Her chakra was still suppressed to the point where he couldn’t tell how much she had, but it was moving within her, prepped for combat. She didn’t respond to his threat. 

He turned to leave, his warning delivered, Kisame following his lead even though he knew he was confused. He paused without conscious thought, right before he exited. He didn’t know why he spoke when he said, inflicting disdain in his voice, “Tea would have been better.”

She didn’t reply to that either, and he left the facility. She had nineteen minutes. 

He went to a building close by, a small yakitori stall that was abandoned when they arrived. It had a small awning and two stools, so he took one and turned to face her makeshift hospital, red eyes looking for any sort of movement. 

Kisame didn’t take up the seat next to him, instead he stood in the rain and watched Itachi from under his hat. 

“Tea is a good choice, were I to choose between it and hospital coffee,” he began, conversationally. He didn’t even bother commenting on the fact that they very obviously were not doing as Pein had tasked—then again, Kisame probably planned it that way since he had volunteered in the first place. “I know I enjoy being stationed in Tea country, of the various locations Leader-sama could have sent us.” Each team of the Akatsuki had a standard location they operated in. Theirs was the lower part of Fire, Wave, Mist, and Tea. 

Itachi said nothing; she had ten minutes. He continued to wait, even has that other worldly sense of her was long since traveling towards the border. Notedly, he couldn’t feel her leave using his other senses. She was undoubtedly a lot stronger than the record of her indicated, of the record that _he_ had read anyway. 

As his inner timer completed, Itachi’s eyes morphed into the mangekyou, and blackfire bloomed into being on the old building, destroying the home she had just started to build. Kisame grunted, but didn’t do anything to stop or assist him. Itachi acknowledged the irony; usually it was the opposite, with the sharkman doling the excessive violence and him doing nothing to hinder it.

They left in silence, the black flames burning the stone to nothing behind them. 

**XXXXX**

Hoshigaki Kisame liked puzzles. He always had. It was why, when he was still a part of Kirigakure, it was him who was assigned to guard the cypher unit. He understood the power of secrets, and the power of figuring them out; he almost never told what he knew, he just liked knowing. It was why he liked Uchiha Itachi so much; man was a puzzle inside an enigma, and was a very powerful person besides. He was almost the perfect shinobi; quiet, deadly, and kept his emotions and thoughts free from his features. But Kisame was very, very good, and had been working with him since before he needed to shave. 

Kisame already knew that Itachi, for all that he slaughtered his family, was a pacifist. He knew that he was under some sort of blackmail agreement with Uchiha Madara, who was the person to recruit himself. He knew that Itachi had some disease that caused him to have something wrong with his lungs, but that he didn’t seem to care enough about it to do much. He knew he was mostly biding his time until his brother came after him—to what end, he was yet uncertain. He also knew him to be a virgin, which made that pink haired woman of his so damn _interesting_. 

It wasn’t just that she kept finding them so easily—which admittedly peaked his interest. It wasn’t as if they had a tracking device; he knew they didn’t since they routinely checked for bugs (both literal and figurative, considering the Aburame clan), and had done an even more thorough scrub after the first week and their usual methods for losing a tail hadn’t worked. The second week they had worn a constant henge, and the third they had deployed more than a few physical bunshin to blur their trail, and the last they had constantly backtracked, adding not insignificant time to their travel. Nothing worked to deter Itachi’s lover from finding him. 

And Kisame knew the woman _had_ to be Itachi’s lover, for all that the usual indicators said otherwise. Why else would a pregnant woman be so insistent to speak to Itachi, and Itachi only? He thought he might have been mistaken about what Itachi got up to when they went to their separate rooms—his nose was very strong, but perhaps he had just missed over something after his own lustful excursions one night?—but the Uchiha had not even twitched when Kisame had told him of the woman, and her desire to talk to him. He had that mildly thoughtful look, as if he was trying to place a semi-known person, but that was no more than he did for any Konoha nin, to see if he could recall them from when he was still active duty. He gave no more reaction to learning of her pregnancy than he did her pink hair, confidence men who had imbibed with a woman just couldn’t have when they learned that said pregnant woman was after them. 

Kisame had been even more intrigued. He’d still finger that they were involved in some way, however. 

So when he had finally convinced the man to go find out what she wanted, he was not disappointed with what had occurred. Itachi was gone less than a half hour, and no sounds of battle nor noteworthy chakra use could be sensed during that time. Despite that, when he came down, Kisame had never seen his partner look so rattled. He didn’t even know if Itachi realized his eyes had still been in their mangekyou form as he came down the stairs. Whatever had occurred, it was more serious than some bint merely claiming to carry the next Uchiha spawn. (A part of him considered that it was Uchiha _Madara’s_ spawn, but he immediately rejected it. Some things he just didn’t want to think about.) 

It continued on after, even after the woman finally stopped following them. Itachi would just gaze into the distance, clearly thinking of whatever they had discussed, his face tinged gray from stress. 

When Pein brought up a strange shinobi on the edge of his territory, Kisame didn’t initially think twice on it. While it wasn’t a common occurrence, it wasn’t completely unusual. Rain occasionally got a defector to join their ranks, someone oblivious to the fact that it was the home base of the Akatsuki. Closer to the village, Konan would be the one to make the journey, but Pein rarely sent her that close to the border, so he usually sent one of his Akatsuki teams after inquiring to see if it was worth their while. 

When it was discussed that the shinobi in question was female, and had pink hair, Kisame _knew_ he couldn’t let this opportunity go. Not only because he wanted answers, but also because he knew that his partner was probably having an Itachi-equivalent heart attack thinking another Akatsuki member getting near to whoever that woman was. He knew that just as he knew he would never speak up himself. The way that Itachi was perfectly still was an indicator he was pretty certain that only he could pick up. 

So Kisame, graciously of him, accepted when Itachi couldn’t, and even needled just the right amount to seem as if he was more poking fun at the shared Konoha origins than any direct connection. He was rewarded for doing so by the fact that Itachi lead them to where she was without deviation, despite not being told where she was. 

He knew that there were only a few locations Pein had mentioned could match, but when he went to take the standard route to the border, a subtle shifting from Itachi turned them instead to the village near the southern side in a more direct route. When they stopped to rest—Itachi’s disease now manifesting in bloody phlegm, which was new and worrying on its own—a subtle question Kisame asked confirmed that Itachi _knew_ where she was. He had somehow been keeping track; possibly through his spies. Everyone in Akatsuki had spies, both for work and for personal gain, but to allocate some of those limited resources to track the kunoichi? And to _only_ track; he obviously didn’t dissuade her from her ill thought decision to settle in Rain. 

Kisame got both answers and more questions when they came upon the woman again. For one, she knew they were coming, and had for some time—the facility they had found her in had been cleared, but not in haste, in addition to her greeting them prepped for battle. Her belly was noticeable now, the little fish still growing within. 

The woman hadn’t raised her eyes when they came in, which was smart when dealing with a sharingan user like Itachi. Not so smart when dealing with Kisame, but that was why Akatsuki worked in pairs. 

“What do you want? I assume you’re not here for the coffee,” she said, her face carefully blank as she watched their feet. While he knew it was more of a sardonic comment, he noted that she still made a joke on the historically bad hospital coffee when confronted instead of an insult, or pleading, as lesser shinobi tended to. 

Kisame looked between her and the overly still Itachi like a tennis match, eagerly dissecting their reactions. She must have gotten whatever information she wanted from the last time they had spoken, her every movement all but demanding for them to leave. Samehada vibrated just a bit at the sensation of her chakra, smothered but rushing beneath her skin, like a riptide that would snatch the unwary. He wondered just what type of fighter she’d be; the weapon clearly indicated close range, but she also didn’t have the thing the last time he saw her. Perhaps it was a recent acquisition. 

“You are not welcome here.” Itachi said harshly, and Kisame had to raise an eyebrow at that. He had thought, and hoped, there would be a little more banter between them. However, the bluntness served its own purpose; Itachi felt very strongly about this woman, though that sensation didn’t seem at all pleasant. “You have twenty minutes to leave, before I burn this place down until even the stone is ash.”

The woman looked up at that, her eyes stopping roughly at his partner’s neck, but Kisame could tell she had to preemptively stop herself there. She was either completely unused to the sharingan and its abilities—doubtful, since even the most mediocre of Konoha shinobi knew at least a little bit about the doujutsu—or she was used to looking such users in the face. Maybe the little fish _was_ Madara’s. Gods, he hoped it wasn’t, but that would certainly explain their hostility. 

He was beginning to ponder the horrifying thought of that man breeding when Itachi stopped right before he stepped outside and clearly said, almost mocking, “Tea would have been better.”

Kisame was frozen for only a fraction of a heartbeat, but immediately turned to look at the woman’s reaction even as Itachi left. She was watching his partner’s back, a hand raised to touch against her chin where that strange bruise use to be, her expression suddenly pained as if she received news of a death of a loved one. Without even a glance at him, she turned and walked away, shouldering the impressively sized ax as if it was nothing—definitely a close combat type. Hm, pity she was pregnant; she might be a fun fight.

The former Mist ninja found his partner at an abandoned meat stall, sitting out of the rain. The Uchiha had eyes affixed to the building, and didn’t spare him a glance. 

“Tea is a good choice, were I to choose between it and hospital coffee,” Kisame started, pretending as if he didn’t know exactly what Itachi had done with his comment. “I know I enjoy being stationed in Tea country, of the various locations Leader-sama could have sent us.” He prodded, a bit more direct when the first didn’t warrant a reaction. 

Itachi still did not respond, and the only movement that he did was a few minutes later when his eyes morphed into the mangekyou and the black flames were born despite the rain. Kisame grunted in surprise, both at the extreme waste of chakra the flames demanded for such a large undertaking, and for the fact that he hadn’t sensed the woman leave. He and Samehada lost track of her almost as soon as they left the building, which was not a small feat. And if _he_ couldn’t know she left, neither could Itachi—and yet he cast the flames anyway. 

He didn’t say anything, even as they left once the building was completely destroyed. A niggling thought had arisen by the time they did. With the civilians long since evacuated or otherwise avoiding the area, and all possible evidence destroyed by the blackfire, they could say anything they wish in regards to what became of their meeting. Amaterasu destroyed everything—no one would know what happened to the woman, unless Itachi or Kisame told them. And he had given her twenty minutes, a very good head start for any shinobi. 

How very, very interesting. 

Upon returning, Itachi was the one who reported to Pein, “Her relationships would have proved an issue for Akatsuki; she has been dealt with.”

Kisame said nothing. He didn’t disagree, after all.


	3. Death saves

They went back to their usual territory shortly after that. In the over a month time after they returned, Kisame paid special attention to Itachi’s movements, in particular to see if any of his spies reported to him in regards to wherever that woman had settled. Tea was a not a small country to hide in, and she may even have even been picked up by her fellow Konoha shinobi before she ever got there, as Fire country had to be traveled through to reach it. But while Itachi went to his medic in Amegakure before they departed Rain, that was the only contact he had with anyone not Kisame or the mark they were hunting. Not even his summons made an appearance. Itachi was aware of his increased scrutiny, of course, but he would only look at him with a blank stare, a raised eyebrow in almost challenge as if daring him to figure out the mystery. 

The Uchiha was a prick sometimes. 

Unfortunately, he was a prick that he actually liked most days, so that was why he was currently trying so hard to keep him alive.

“Come on, Itachi, stay with me.” He muttered, grumpy, his hands quickly binding the worst of the injuries. Their mark, an arrogant Mist ninja who had the _annoying_ ability to reverse time in three second intervals (a trait their client was paying handsomely to remove from the market), and an unfortunate skill of hiding, had lead them into an ambush by Mist ANBU. They had been slaughtered, of course, but Itachi’s cough had acted up just at the wrong moment, and he had taken a fist full of kunai to his left side for his trouble, at least one piercing his lung. He’s _got _to do something about that cough more than he has been.

Kisame had Samehada to heal himself of injuries, so healing wouldn’t have been something he looked into even if he had the chakra control to attempt it, which he didn’t. Itachi had basic medical jutsu abilities, but it was a field someone generally had to specialize in to get any way skilled at. As Itachi was currently struggling to breathe around his possibly collapsing lung, even his impressive abilities weren’t enough to bring the focus required for what he needed. 

He plucked the last blade from his partner, quickly applying pressure and more gauze against the wound to seal it. “There, now open up,” He didn’t wait for Itachi’s mouth to open on its own, just used his bloody fingers to shove a pill in, putting his hand over his mouth after to ensure he didn’t accidentally spit it out. “Swallow that, and we’ll go to your nearest medic, and they’ll patch the rest.” 

Kisame knew Itachi had at least three, but probably closer to five, different doctors—one was an old, retired shinobi on the other side of Mist village that he knew first hand—who the clan killer patronized to get his drugs, stashed in intermediate locations. He didn’t know whether they coordinated treatment, or if they even knew of each other’s existence, though he’d bet that they didn’t. He knew one to be relatively close by, from his vague recollection of the area. Since they dealt with the nukenin already, he knew he’d not have to worry about them snitching to any hunter ninja when Itachi was out of commission. They were in the unclaimed land between Fire and Water, having finally found their mark here. His corpse was now watering the plants, the head sealed away to prove completion. 

“No, no, stay awake.” He slapped Itachi’s face a bit, leaving a bloody handprint. Eyes fluttered open, black before they bloomed red, flickering on and off, unable to settle. Likely due to blood loss. The blood pill probably didn’t kick in yet, or maybe Kisame missed a hole. “Focus. Itachi, where’s your medic at?”

Itachi breathed shallowly, face even more pale than usual, the red splatter a stark contrast. His black eyes blinking slowly once in almost incomprehension, and Kisame had to repeat the question, before he tilted his head Southwest, “That way… two days…”

Well, he huffed, that was a bit farther than he was expecting. Kisame merged with Samehada so he’d be able to pull his partner onto his back without worrying about the sword cutting into him, and the added chakra would also help his dash. He made his way in the direction indicated, looking for either chakra or a familiar area. Itachi passed out quickly, and didn’t awaken again during the entire trip. That was concerning, he wasn’t going to deny that. Kisame was briefly worried that his ‘two days’ was Itachi travel time, not Fused-with-Samehada travel time and he had overshot it, but he didn’t think a small thing like being on death’s door could get Itachi to misjudge something as plebeian as distance. 

On the afternoon of the second day, they came to a relatively isolated farming village, one known best for their particular flavor of peach infused tea. It was somewhere they had patronized before, and returned to once or twice a year, during their exploration of Tea Country. Kisame usually preferred green tea, but the light fruitiness hadn’t been unpleasant. Itachi purchased a decently sized tin to take with them each time they came, and was usually the cause of their return; of _course_ it was here that the strange woman had been sent to. 

He glared at his unconscious partner, irritated from the moment Samehada had caught her chakra. He had kept too close of a watch on him for his spies to approach, so maybe this had been the only fall back location in Tea for her. How else would Itachi have known where she was, with intimacy to recall it in his state? And how connected were they, if he trusted in her abilities enough to direct them when he needed medical attention _now, _preferably yesterday? How much did he trust _her_, in fact, to heal him? Especially after the particularly cool reception they had the time before, and Itachi’s subsequent destruction of the place.

Whatever the reason, Kisame headed in her direction; as a medical shinobi, she was by far preferable to a civilian, which he had been expecting Itachi to direct them to. If she tried to do something other than treat his partner, however, then Kisame would kill her, little fish or not.

He found her in nearly the identical situation as before, belly obviously pregnant at this point, prepped and waiting for them, which was so interesting it made his teeth itch. How did she sense them approach to have enough time to empty the facility? Itachi certainly didn’t send a message to her that they were coming. Maybe she was a sensor type, a long range one. Or maybe had laid some trap triggers around certain points of her newest facilities, and he just happened to trip one. He was decent at detecting traps, but not the best. That would still say something about her skill, however. How interesting.

Her eyes widened, mouth dropped open, and her hand slackened on that overly large ax, clearly surprised at the bloody mess they appeared. He had unmerged with his sword before coming in, carrying Itachi in his arms to be able to place him as needed as soon as possible.

“Well, do you greet all of your patients like this, or are we just special?” He grinned to show his pointed teeth, more threat than amusement. Itachi did not have the time for banter, his breath was barely existent at this point. 

She blinked, then looked away from Itachi’s still body to glare at Kisame instead. Her face hardened, and the emotions were so neatly wiped from her face he almost thought she was a different person. “Just the ones who burn down my home. Follow me, then.” She turned and hurried away, leaving the ax to fall behind her carelessly. Kisame followed on her heels. 

They entered into a hallway with a number of doors, and she led them to one which was open and had a singular bed inside. Instead of an industrial facility from before, she had moved into an old abandoned hotel, a single story smaller building that half wrapped around a half dead courtyard. The village she was in wasn’t large by any means, smaller even than the previous one, but he was still surprised to see that this building hadn’t been appropriated before she got to it—there was probably some reason behind it. Like maybe Itachi had been the root cause of its initial abandonment. But when had he found the time? Or if he had done so before their last meeting, why hadn’t she come here first rather than go in the opposite direction into Rain?

He laid Itachi down as indicated on the mostly stripped bed, and backed away just enough for her to get to him. He gripped at Samehada’s hilt, watching with both curiosity and caution as the woman leaned over his partner for any sign of malicious intent. She parted the Akatsuki robe deftly, but froze with an intake of breath when she looked back up at his face, or more accurately, his neck. Her hand briefly touched the necklace there, before her expression shut down again and she went back to her examination. He knew Itachi always wore that necklace, but had never questioned it more than he did now. It must have some meaning, and she _knew_ that meaning, but it’s presence surprised her.

Her hands glowed a very distinct green as they were placed on Itachi’s chest, and near immediately one moved to place over where the barrage of kunai had embedded into him. The other stayed on his sternum, and Kisame watched as she began to comprehend just how damaged his partner was. Her face was mostly, annoyingly, blank, only her eyes and a twitch of an eyebrow reflecting a hint of her growing horror. Kisame frowned—Itachi was far worse than even he suspected to elicit such a reaction. 

Still, he didn’t think she was going to be an issue, not with how focused she was on his partner. Kisame was pretty certain she had forgotten he was here. 

“I’ll be back in three days for him,” he said, already planning on delivering the head during that time. He’d travel faster now, without the added nearly-dead weight, and their client wasn’t too far into Fire from here.

“I’ll need a week,” she replied, her voice firmer than he was expecting. 

He looked at her, and she looked back at him, her eyes a bright green so contrasting to the usual red he looked into. “A week, and then you can have him.” She affirmed, challengingly, as if he _would_ get that fight if he were to try and take him from her before then. How _very _interesting. 

He smirked and left, not agreeing or disagreeing. He had only thought she’d heal the battle wounds, which would take a day, two at most, if she was a lesser medic. If she managed to pull off at least patching up Itachi’s lungs in a week, he’d be very impressed. He had no knowledge of medical jutsu, but Itachi had been seeing a shinobi in addition to the civilians. If it had been an easy fix, they’d have done it. 

Of course, if Itachi had a medic like her in his back pocket long enough to get her pregnant, why was he still struggling with the illness? And her horror at the discovery of the extent was not feigned, so she obviously hadn’t known before—had Itachi kept it hidden from her? Why? And _how_, if she was in anyway more capable than a hack? So many questions; Kisame chuckled as he departed. He’d solve it eventually. 

**XXXXX**

Itachi awoke slowly, as if he was emerging from sludge that he had to fight every step of the way. His eyelids were particularly heavy, and his mind feeling as if it were buried in cotton. He was completely relaxed in a way that his sluggish mind eventually processed had to do with drugs, and a lot stronger ones than he had been self medicating with. That would probably also explain his current pain-free breathing. He was half way certain he had fallen asleep again when he heard the sound of a door opening, and footsteps. He must be _heavily_ sedated, since even the understanding that he was lying on his back and there was a person coming to stand over him didn’t increase his heart rate any. He was curiously detached, as if what he was hearing and feeling were outside of himself. 

Warm hands felt along his neck briefly, then a slight pressure on his chest. It was followed by a chill feeling, as chakra seeped down into his lungs. In the abstract, he knew he shouldn’t be passively accepting of the energy within him, so easily to twist and still his heart. However, he knew who the woman over him was, even as he still didn’t open his eyes to confirm. If she wanted him dead, all she had to do was nothing.

He finally opened his eyes, and blinked, the world lighting around him. Unlike what he had grown used to over the last few years, there was no creeping darkness to the world, though everything was smudged to the point that he could only make out colors at a distance, and vague shapes closer. He realized he didn’t have his sharingan activated, so he was knowingly seeing out of his black eyes for the first time in a very long while.

“I need to check your cognisance,” She spoke calmly, unsurprised by his state of awareness. Her hands moved from his chest to lightly frame his face. 

She was heavily blurred, but she was close enough that he could make out rough details of her face. Her bright green eyes, her hair falling forward as she leaned down over him like a sheet of pink. The lavender mark on her forehead seemed smaller than before, either more pointed or had less leaves, but the blur of his vision prevented a more detailed look. He tried to activate his sharingan, so he could _see_, but he couldn’t. His eyes were unable to activate. 

That was what finally made his heart pick up, his hands spasming under the sheets.

“I’ve blocked your chakra,” She said, detached. 

Itachi felt the panic rise up in his throat. He was too drugged to more than writhe a bit, the tucked in blankets almost as effective as any bindings. One of his arms somehow worked itself free, his hand wrapping around her wrist in a far too weak of a grip, but he felt her skin twitch under his fingers. His adrenaline was clearing his mind, but not nearly fast enough.

She stilled his head from its thrashing, trying to escape from her hold. “Look at me,” her voice was firm, a voice of someone who knew they were the one in control. She further moved his head to emphasise her order, and he was helpless to resist. His eyes flickered, focusing now on cool green as much as he could with his still nearly useless vision. “It is temporary, Uchiha-san. I won’t take your eyes from you.”

He tried to jerked into the mattress, to break free, but couldn’t escape her grip, his breaths labored. He hated the fact that she knew the reason for his sudden panic. He also hated the fact he felt a disquiet as she addressed him so, which was ridiculous, since he didn’t even know her name. But he mostly hated that he felt reassured by her declaration, that he trusted in her word. 

“Why am I here?” He asked instead of acknowledging his alarm, his voice hoarse and raspy, his tongue thick and numb in his mouth. He tried to calm himself. He didn’t remember how he got here, wherever _here _was; the last thing he could clearly recall was fighting the Mist hunters in no-man’s land between Fire and Water, then a burning into his side. After that it was blurry, then nothing. 

“Your… partner dropped you off, most of the way dead already, and that was disincluding the blood loss.” Her face was almost the opposite as when they had first met, a certain expressionlessness that showed training for it. However, he still caught the hint of accusation in her tone. “You very obviously needed medical attention. As to how your partner found me… that I’m certain you’d be better at answering than I.” She moved a pen light suddenly into his eye, and he couldn’t himself but to flinch at the blinding light. His hand remained wrapped around her right wrist, too weak to do anything more than hold on, and she didn’t remove it.

“As I said, I need to test your cognisance,” she continued, checking the dilation on his other eye, “What is the date of your birth?”

“Why are you doing this?” He said instead, around the rocks that were stuffed in his cheeks. “I am not your husband.”

Her mouth twisted, her mask cracking for just a moment as she said in a smaller voice, “I know.” But then she sighed, and leaned away, her appearance disappearing almost entirely into the blur as she did so. Her hands moved back to his temples, where chakra began to seep in, monitoring something there, too wide a sweep to pinpoint a specific target. A concussion would help explain his scattered memory. “I have set up an open clinic. I will care for any who need it and come to my door in peace. Technically, you needed it and that time had done so.”

He didn’t like that. Did she just expect others to leave her alone as she made herself into an easy target? Deidara was psychotic, but he was right. Good medical ninja were rare, and valuable; particularly if they didn’t have a village to protect them. It was why Pein thought she was interesting enough to send them to investigate, rather than just sending a Rain shinobi to kill her. If she cared at all for the safety of herself, and her child, she would either hide away as a civilian, or attach herself to someone who could protect her. The further along the pregnancy she was, the more dangerous it would be for her out here by herself.

“Fool.” He said instead of voicing those thoughts. 

She huffed, her hands finally leaving his face. His fingers fell from her wrist as well, not having the strength to keep her. 

“I suppose I’ll take that as confirmation that you’re able to think clearly,” she said wryly. Her shape bent, and he heard rummaging around in a bag next to him, his vision too gone to make out what it was. He could just make out the larger blur of her abdomen, further along than before, beginning to interfere with her ability to lean over. 

Itachi closed his eyes and just breathed, focusing on his body and assessing its limitations. He couldn’t feel his legs, and his stomach felt as if full of slush. His upper limbs felt like they were made of lead, heavy and virtually as imobile as his legs. The room he was in was well lit, and while he couldn’t see definitive borders, he knew the room was smaller rather than larger due to the way the sound was carrying in it. His greatest limitation would be the chakra block, of course, but if he took her by surprise or waited until she left him alone for a moment he felt he could escape. Then he’d be able to burn the suppressants off within an hour. After that, he didn’t think she’d pursue again. He certainly wasn’t going to stay here any longer.

“Good night, Uchiha-san,” Her voice came back as a warm hand touched his exposed arm, and a sharp pinprick punctured his skin. 

He wondered how often his other self had fled from the hospital for her to preemptively anticipate his escape in that brief instance he had before he was drugged back unconscious. 

**XXXXX**

Itachi opened his eyes, and found himself in another completely different location. Kisame was sitting across from him, a fire to his left, chewing on something that crunched between his sharpened teeth.

He sat up, feeling the slightest lagging sensation in his limbs as the remnant drugs worked their way out. His head was a bit stuffy, but quickly recovering, and his mouth felt like something died in it the week prior. He had a minor headache, but that was the only pain he had. His lungs breathed easily, free from the incessant cough that had been steadily getting worse as time went on. 

That was… He had gotten several professional opinions, and all either told him it was hopeless, or said the treatment would have had an over seventy percent chance of killing him outright, with an additional twenty five percent chance of not working at all, if they could manage it in the first place, and those odds he could not risk with his planned death at Sasuke’s hands. Antibiotics and pain medication was the only thing to slow down the disease enough to allow Sasuke to kill him to avenge their family as it should be. 

“Ah, you’re up finally.” His partner grinned. “She did say you’d awaken around now. Here, you need something to eat after your convelencense.” 

Itachi automatically caught the rice ball tossed to him. He looked at it, but didn’t begin to eat. He could sense her, about a half day’s travel west of them, holding steady. “How long since the ambush?”

Kisame shrugged, taking another bite of his crab leg, shell and all. “A few days longer than a week.” Itachi frowned, since he only remembered awakening the one time. She must have kept him under during nearly his entire stay. “You shouldn’t have let your cough get so out of hand that it affected your fighting.”

Itachi tensed a bit at the first direct remark his partner had ever made against his encroaching disease, but he didn’t acknowledge the comment otherwise. Instead, he looked towards the onigiri in his hand, obviously store bought from the packaging. His lack of pain from breathing was remarkable, but it wasn’t the only thing that had changed during his stay under her care. 

He could _see_.

He could see the way the shadows danced in the light of the fire, the flaking bits of colored shell as his partner consumed his meal. The individual grains of rice in his onigiri, the crinkles in the cellophane wrapping. Detail, color, not a hint of darkness creeping along the edges of his sight. He had not been able to see so clearly since before Kisame was his partner, and this was _without_ his sharingan. 

He activated his eyes and, for the first time in a very long time, the process was completely pain free. The world bloomed into existence around him, sharper and more vibrant so much that it was almost overwhelming.

She had given him his sight back. She could _heal the damage of the Sharingan_. 

Coldness flowed through his veins. Tsunade, the legendary Sannin and Godaime Hokage, was not able to reverse the damage caused by Sharingan use, a fact that was well known and begrudged from his clan. If Madara found out she could do that, nothing in the world would stop him from collecting her. This was _besides_ the fact she could heal a disease most proclaimed incurable in less than a week. The fact that she had done so at the _same time_ was almost impossible to comprehend. 

“Itachi, you need some pain meds or something? You’ve gone pale.” Kisame remarked, cautiously setting down his food. 

He wouldn’t have said anything had it not been bad enough to cause worry. Itachi forced himself to breathe, rubbing a hand down his face. “It’s nothing.” He said, hand cupping his mouth momentarily before dropping. 

He took another few breaths before unwrapping the onigiri finally, not meeting the side glance from his partner. It tasted like ash, but he ate it anyway. It was doubtful he had solid food since his injury. He turned to his partner, who at this point Itachi was uncertain whether his duty to the Akatsuki outweighed his loyalty to him. He chewed and forced himself to swallow before he said, as factual as he could, “Our trip to the medic is to remain between us.”

Kisame shrugged, “Sure, I’ll keep whatever this is between you two secret... on one condition,” He leaned forward, and Itachi kept himself relaxed as before, refusing to tense at his sudden blackmail. It was expected. “Tell me the origin of your necklace.”

Itachi didn’t allow himself so much as a blink, even as there was a thousand more questions he would think would be vastly more pertinent. He nodded in agreement and said, “It was a gift given to me by my grandfather when I became a chuunin. Meant to represent the three main disciplines one must master; ninjutsu, taijutsu, and genjutsu. It had been given to him when he became a chuunin, and his grandfather’s before then.”

Kisame grunted, turning back to his food, inscrutable. “Did you kill him with the rest of your clan?”

Itachi shook his head, “He died shortly after gifting me this necklace, three years before.” He had particularly looked up to his grandfather, who was one of the few in his clan who wished for peace more than power. 

The former Mist-nin eyed him again but fell silent, not giving indication one way or another what he thought of the answer. 

The onigiri sat like a hard lump in his belly, but he forced himself to eat another before he laid back down onto his bedroll, exhausted and still very much on the recovery. He deactivated his eyes and looked at the star speckled sky above him, seeing them for the first time since he became an adult. 

He would have to prevent her from being discovered, the foolish woman. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, chapter title is based off D&D 5e.


	4. Watcher

Itachi learned a few things over the next two months. The first of which was that kage bunshin didn’t trigger whatever tracking ability they had between each other, so he was able to covertly act without her being immediately aware of his interference, or that it was _him_ doing so. He couldn’t maintain the bunshin as he slept, so he was limited on how he could implement them; usually only when they traveled near her location. 

The second was that Kisame kept his word that what occurred with Itachi and the woman remained between them. He certainly watched Itachi’s actions, and smirked at the ones that couldn’t be reasonably explained by their work to be anything other than checking on her. But he never talked about it, negative, teasing, or otherwise. He just watched—Itachi was uncertain how to feel about that. 

The third thing Itachi learned was just how far gone he had been with his disease and sight. He had known he was bad, but the difference now that they were cured was startling in their intensity. And he knew it was a cure, and not just a temporary fix, as they remained in their much improved state no matter what he did. He almost hated her for doing that to him, as he was already intending for Sasuke to kill him, and now he would have a much harder time to trick his brother into believing he was able to do so without the disease eating away at his lungs. He loved his brother, but he had been keeping track of his abilities as much as he could, and it wasn’t improving nearly as quickly as he had hoped. 

The last thing he learned was her name. 

It had been when the Ichibi was taken, and he was gifted a puppet from Sasori. The Kyuubi container, Hatake Kakashi, Maito Gai, and a number of other Konoha shinobi he was unfamiliar with were trying to catch up to the location they had taken the Kazekage. Uzumaki had taken one look at him, realized who he was, and rushed him, red chakra already streaming from him in an overpowering rage. 

They had managed to delay the group a little, but not nearly as much as they’d have preferred, and as Uzumaki killed his clone, he had hissed into his ear, “This is for Sakura-chan, you bastard.”

Itachi had been jerked back into his real body from the premature death of his clone, but even still his otherwise concentration on extracting the bijuu was maintained. They were able to complete their mission, but at the cost of Sasori, and Deidara’s arm.

Madara also decided to emerge from his hole again, this time as ‘Tobi.’ Itachi was uncertain who all knew about the truth of the masquerade person, but he knew that he had to keep Madara away from his… from Sakura. He felt uncomfortable referring to her by her given name, but he didn’t know her original family name, and he was even more uncomfortable referring to her by her married name. Alleged married name. ...Former married name? 

Itachi moved some of his spy network to ensure that rumors involving a medic in Tea didn’t get too far out of the country. He already had to eliminate one overly curious nukenin set since his self imposed protection started. Kisame gave him an odd look at the start of the battle, after he had hunted down the group, but still happily destroyed the men despite not having anything personally against them. He liked the fight too much to argue against it, even if the reason wasn’t for Akatsuki. 

As he watched, however, he realized just how much her pregnancy was affecting her. Her belly was now very obviously pregnant, and it greatly hindered her movement. While he was not a medic ninja himself, and had not researched into the topic even slightly, he had vague recollections of his mother refraining from chakra use while carrying Sasuke. He could only assume there was a reason for this, and he knew it would affect her start up business greatly as a medic-nin. He wondered what healing him had cost her. He knew that she received supplies from those she treated, but almost never received cash, and was not getting the quality supplies she needed. Her clothing was becoming worn, she lost weight in her face, and she often had to use makeshift bandages rather than premade as hospitals tended to. So of course he began to drop off supplies as well as prevent discovery. Foolish woman.

However, as he watched her he became… curious. 

It was one thing to be just aware of her existence, as he had when he initially been approached by her, but the constant feedback of information he received from his clones and his spies made him think about the _whys_ and _hows_ of things. Why did she heal his eyes in addition to his wounds that Kisame had brought him in for? She knew how dangerous the sharingan was, especially in a nukenin clankiller’s control. Why did she cure his disease, rather than just patch it? How did she manage either, in such a limited time? If she was such a great medical ninja, no hidden village in the world would deny her entry and would grant complete immunity by joining, even Konoha itself, despite her abnormal story. Why had she heeded his subtle order to settle in Tea after he had basically destroyed her first attempt at a home? Why _and_ how did she choose _this_ specific town, which was the only one he routinely returned to in the country? There were much larger places where her skills would be better utilized, even in the civilian sector, and would get paid handsomely enough to support herself and hi… her child. 

And he also was painfully curious as to the world she claimed to have come from. How did the Uchiha survive there? No, not just survive—_flourish_. If the village was considering a Uchiha for Hokage, than they had lost the mistrust that dogged them into death in this world. What had been the difference? Had he missed over something that could have saved his clan? It hurt to think about it, but he couldn’t stop. 

That ceaseless curiosity was why he one day made the terrible decision to go see her for himself. 

Akatsuki was a group of individuals. As long as their tasks were completed, and they were not undermining the group, they could do what they liked. Orochimaru, when he had been Itachi’s partner, had his research into immortality. Deidara was well known among the group to have several recurring sexual relationships scattered through his territory, not all of them female. It was also rumored that one of the Akatsuki was married, but it was never confirmed who. Kisame supposedly knew, but he never told who it was. Itachi supposed that would work in his favor for this situation with… with Sakura. 

“I will be gone for a few days,” Itachi declared abruptly that morning, breaking the silence. 

Kisame grunted an affirmation, unsurprised. “Just be back before the supplier returns.” He continued to eat his breakfast, and didn’t question where Itachi was going. He knew. 

Itachi nodded briefly, and quickly departed from along the edge of Water. He had a little less than a week, but he didn’t think he would use the entire time. He didn’t even know if she’d approach him. He wouldn’t directly approach her, he would just give the opportunity. He couldn’t bring himself to do anything more direct. 

He made an indirect route that took him just over two days, curving around the village in which she still resided and slowing as he approached. He entered the village at a walk, on the opposite side as where she had built her newest home, his hat foregone but his cloak still concealing his form. He could feel her, stationary in her hospital. He wondered if she was prepped for either battle or surgery, given the last two times they had met. 

He found a restaurant and ordered a drink and a plate of dumplings, then waited at an outdoor table. The civilians around him watched him openly, and he knew some walked out of their way to leave his area. The waiter was barely more than a child, and took his order and delivered his tea and food before skittering away without a word. 

He made himself eat one of the four small buns as he waited, giving her the time it would take to finish his pot of tea before he left. His clones had reported that her hospital, while her skill was beyond that which that should have naturally drew people to her, was not doing so well. Even with the supplies he deposited, she had few patrons who donated too little. He wondered why she stayed here, in the land of Tea. He wondered if she would show. 

She appeared before his first cup had even cooled. 

Itachi didn’t know whether he was more surprised at her actually appearing, how quickly she did, or her flatly irritated expression when she plopped into the chair across from him. Her belly was much larger, to the point where she had to sit mostly sideways in the chair to get close to the table. Her clothing was different, muted browns and creams, though the black protective obi was still wrapped around her. Her face was thinner, and there were slight bags under her eyes. The purple diamond pattern on her forehead was once again five marks strong, and he wondered what that meant that there were five of them vice the Godaime’s one. 

“Your other self does the same thing, and I find it just as irritating now as then. Send a message if you want to meet, don’t just _appear_ and expect that I’ll do the same.” She grumped, reaching for the tea pot and the spare cup as if it were the most natural thing to do.

Itachi blinked, uncertain how to take the light rebuke or the knowledge that he unknowingly copied her husband. He didn’t know how to feel about that, or her nearly casual demeanor (the tenseness in her shoulders indicated she wasn’t as relaxed as she was making the effort to appear to be). Now that she was sitting before him, he felt uncharacteristically flummoxed, as if his plan on gaining answers had been an ill conceived dream and now faced with reality, he didn’t know what to do. 

The woman didn’t allow her own unease to hinder her, and grabbed up a bun from the plate he had pushed to the side without hesitation. He blinked again, once more startled at her daring. He hadn’t had someone steal food from his plate since Sasuke. “Hm, Anko buns.” She finished her stolen bun before she used her tea to wash her bite down, and then leaned back in her chair before speaking again as he watched in bemused silence. “So why are you here, Uchiha-san?”

He took a breath deeply, easily, as he hadn’t been able to before her, “I have questions.”

“I see. Well, I have questions as well, so we can do a trade. You ask me one, I get to ask you.” She reached forward and picked up another bun. Her nails were shorter, but now were smooth and clean. 

He nodded once in agreement, moving his gaze to watch his own hands hold his tea. He could always lie if he didn’t want to answer her questions.

“How did the Uchiha survive?” The words fell from him, almost painful, without his conscious thought. It was the thing he wished most to know, even though it would hurt to know how easily he had failed. 

“I don’t know how to answer that, Uchiha-san,” she said surprisingly softly, “I don’t know the differences is in this world that caused their death here.”

He pursed his lips slightly behind his closed collar, pondering how to better seek the information he wanted without revealing too much. He still didn’t completely throw away the possibility that she was an elaborate trap. “Tell me about the Uchiha clan, from the beginning of Konoha.” There, then he could itemize the differences and better plan his questioning.

She shrugged, and began, “Well, Konoha was founded shortly after Uchiha Izuna-sama and Senju Yoko-sama, the cousin of Senju Hashirama-sama, were discovered to be soul bonded.”

Itachi forced himself to maintain his even breathing. “Uchiha Madara allowed his brother to marry a Senju?”

She surprised him again by barking out a quick laugh. “Ha! No, of course not. Madara-san apparently wanted Izuna-sama to kill Yoko-sama to gain the—the mangekyou.” Sakura stuttered slightly, as if being reminded suddenly that he had such eyes and what that meant. She pressed on, her face turned from him as if casually looking at the village around them, though her heart rate picked back up, thrumming at her throat. He sipped his tea. “So Izuna-sama killed him instead. He still got the mangekyou, but he became the Nidaime Hokage after Hashirama-sama. He established the clan as the police of Konoha, the protectors and first line of defense in case we were ever invaded: which we were when I was a genin, and it was largely thanks to the Uchiha that we suffered as few losses as we did. The Uchiha are seen as the backbone of Konoha, the trunk of the great tree.”

He didn’t know what to say after that. Her Konoha, from the very beginning, was a vastly different place than his. There was nothing in the history he was taught, both by his family and Madara himself, that indicated any romantic ties between a Uchiha and Senju. Had really something so simple been the cause? Something that had occurred long before he was ever born? He didn’t know whether that was better or worse than something he could have affected in his own world. 

“Ok, my turn.” Her voice broke him from his tumbling thoughts, and he carefully set down his tea in preparation for her own inquiry. “When did you leave Konoha?”

He was surprised by her first question choice, but he supposed it was an interesting point she would be unable to discover on her own. He knew that his bingo book didn’t clarify that point. Each country updated their books at least twice a year, sooner if there was a pressing need. They as such followed his age as he progressed until now, at twenty seven, and didn’t clarify that he had been away from his village for over half of his life.

“I left before my fourteenth birthday.” He answered easily enough; it wasn’t anything he had reason to hide.

In the pause that followed, Itachi took the last bun just as she made to reach for it and asked, “How did you come to be in this world?”

She huffed, though whether it was over the missed snack or his repetitive question, he was uncertain. “I told you before, I just woke up here. There was no chakra, no weird visitors, no strange lights over the village, no craggy old women who the village warned children away from and who I conveniently annoyed the night prior. I simply fell asleep, then woke up and the world around me was… this.” Her hand waved in a vague motion around her, indicating. “Believe me, if I had some inkling as to how I got here, I could figure out how to get back, and I _would_.”

He believed her. He pressed his lips together, staring at the tabletop. He felt pity for her situation, for her being thrust into this terrible place without even a reason or indication why. 

“Are you married?”

He startled, and looked up into her eyes for the first time since she sat down—only then realizing that he had been avoiding actually looking into the green gaze. She was smiling at him, a quirk of her lips. Her eyes held a mix of both wariness and curiosity, with just the slightest hint of teasing. 

“No,” he said, feeling a little uncomfortable with the question. He leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. He didn’t know why he continued to say, “I have not had such a relationship.”

Her smile dropped, and he looked back at his nearly empty cup before he could catch her expression change further. 

“Next question then,” She said a moment later, voice even, pouring more of the tea into his and her cups. He was grateful that she didn’t question or comment further, but a strong part of him was telling him that he should just leave then. This was doing him no benefit to stay here. These questions would change nothing. 

“How did you heal the Sharingan?” He asked instead. It was a very pressing matter, he assured himself, since his bloodline couldn’t be healed by conventional medical-ninjutsu. His grandfather, when he was still alive and claiming age degeneration, had petitioned for Tsunade to try and learn how on him before she left Konoha. She had been unable to do more than mitigate the pain of active use, and that was only temporary. 

The pink haired woman hummed, both hands wrapped around the tea mug. “I suppose it hasn’t been discovered in this world yet, if it ever will, since I was the one to uncover the ability. It was a... side effect, you can call it, of a technique I learned, as I was trying to solve another medical problem. Katsuuyu hasn’t been able to draw on the ability since she split so many times, and so I was mostly on my own for it. It took me the better part of two years to get it to work correctly in my world.” She reached up and tapped her forehead, specifically the lowest diamond. His eyes could see the color variation there, mirrored on the other side, a more pinker purple to the lavender of the upper three. “These two don’t store just chakra, they store _natural_ chakra.”

He went very still, his hands sliding into a more ready position on the table. He eyed her with intent behind his cloak, examining the suddenly a much more legitimate threat. If she had access to Sage mode, she was far more dangerous than he was previously under the impression she was. 

“Slug natured chakra, as opposed to Frog or Snake, is a natural healing chakra. It is more tricky to master, since it requires the Sage to not only balance their own spiritual, physical, and nature chakra, but to also balance against the chakra of the patient. Otherwise, you know, the patient will become a slug.” She shrugged one shoulder and her lips quirked at one corner a bit in humor, “For some reason, exchanging a noble shinobi death for a life as a slug is not something a lot of people would do, so it took me a while to master even after accessing it.”

He wondered if he could defeat her in a fight. Surprise would obviously be on his side initially, and her pregnancy would hinder her movements, if not her jutsu. Kisame had managed to knock her unconscious that one time, so she probably wasn’t battle-hardened enough to always expect an attack. Her stored nature chakra also probably required a seal to release, so he would have at least one half of a second before she had access to her full ability. He could do a lot of damage in half of a second. 

“Hm, we’re out of buns. One moment, please; excuse me!” She called out to the waiter, leaning out to spy the pubescent teenager hiding behind the counter. 

He would be at a possible disadvantage if he couldn’t surprise her, as she was likely far more familiar with his fighting style than he to hers. Just how similar was his fighting style in comparison to her husband? His personal food preferences apparently had carried over, so it was very likely his fighting style would have as well. He had the mangekyou, however, and that is something she didn’t have much experience against. She was used to meeting the gaze of sharingan users, and could easily be trapped by his tsukuyomi again, or he could get her with Amaterasu. 

“Could we get some more buns? Pork filled this time, thank you.” She smiled at the nervous youth, who bobbed his head and skittered away.

There had been less than a handful of Sages in history. Even Jiraiya was just a partial Sage, only able to accomplish such with the help of the toad elders. Still, he was far more dangerous even with that partial ability, to the point where a living legend like Pein was still wary of fighting him. Itachi had never come across a full Sage. He didn’t think it being a healing nature changed how dangerous it could be. 

“Tsunade-sensei, in my world, disapproved of the natural chakra use for healing.” Sakura continued, her shoulders relaxed, “She often called it my cheat ability, since it’s not really any type of medical training to use it, and it’s more like just guiding the chakra to do it’s thing than actively depicting the skill of the medic. But that could also be because she never wanted to risk possibly changing into a slug to learn the skill properly. So, my turn again.” She leaned forward onto her palm, chipper, a small grin on her lips. “Do you have any hobbies?” 

He wondered if she understood how close she was to dying. How close _he_ was. 

“Why are you here?” He asked, his voice quiet. 

She blinked, and her smile faded as she realized what he was asking. Her face lost all emotions, instead presenting her trained neutral expression she hadn’t worn yet this meeting. She leaned back into her chair, and they watched each other in silence until after the food was deposited onto their table. 

Her eyes dropped to the plate as it arrived. “I am familiar with Tea. This village in particular was one my husband and I... traveled to before.” Her mouth twisted, not quite a frown but close, before she fell back into a carefully blank expression. “I had no particular direction to where I settled beyond small and unaligned, so this was a natural location.”

She picked up a bun, but didn’t bite into it immediately. “I don’t want to change this world—I don’t feel like it is my place. Were I to align myself to a hidden village, or other organization, I know I would. When I… _if_ I make it home, the other me will be left back here and I don’t think she would be able to take the changes. If she even exists anymore. I don’t know how this thing works. Perhaps we swapped, or maybe I absorbed her to come here, or maybe she is just simply gone and I came here to fill the void. There isn’t really any knowledge about this.” She shrugged, and bit into the bun, her explanation done. 

He watched her eat the bun for a little before he spoke. “That doesn’t explain why you moved to Tea. You could have disappeared much easier into Sand, or Lightning. You would have settled here first had it held strong enough meaning to you. I attacked you, caught you into my tsukuyomi, and burned down your first attempt at a home. And yet you still heeded my direction.” He finished his tea and turned his cup upside down on its saucer. “I am not your husband and you would be foolish to believe I am.”

“You are not my husband, Uchiha-san, this is true,” she confirmed, her eyes locked on to his. She took a breath and her expression softened just the slightest bit from her cool neutral, “However... you are a lot closer to him than you apparently believe.”

Itachi stood, at the same time placing the exact change necessary for their meal onto the small payment tray. 

“Wait, wait, Itac—”

He left her alone at the table. 


	5. Knowing

He was a weak person. 

He didn’t previously think he was. He had done terrible things in the name of his village, against his very own family, against his beloved little brother. He had lived as a criminal in an international terrorist organization, in the deepest cover, for longer than he had ever been out of it. He had always sacrificed so much of himself, constantly, that he felt that he could face any situation that could cause him to flinch without a blink.

He only made it less than three weeks away before he found himself drawn back to her. 

He supposed it was because she was someone who understood him. Someone who understood what he has been going through, understood the sacrifices he had made, what he had given up. Someone who looked at him and didn’t only see the monster that he had become. He was torn whether he felt her acceptance of him was pure naivety, or just factual because she knew who he was deep inside of himself. Perhaps it was both.

He found her as she was shopping in the market. He fell into step next to her, walking easily as if he had been there since the beginning. 

“My lifestyle doesn’t allow much for hobbies,” he answered her question as if no time had passed from when she had asked, “Although I have been on occasion trying to learn to play a musical instrument.”

She stopped to look at him, a small frown tugging at one corner of her lips. The marketplace bustled around them, civilians haggling over the selections, shoppers discussing amongst themselves over the quality of something, and shopkeepers making grandiose claims about their particular product. She carried a basket in the crook of one arm, already partially filled with a meager selection of vegetables. 

“I’ve not had much success,” he added. He only pursued the habit on occasion, as it was difficult to maintain any type of routine instruction within the Akatsuki. 

Her frown grew just a bit, and he wondered if she would tell him to stop visiting her completely. He was certain if she told him this, he would be able to force himself to remain away. But she made no mention to the end of their previous conversation, saying instead, “That’s because you’re functionally tone deaf.”

She took advantage of his sudden surprise at the knowledge—no one, in his life, had ever told him that—and shoved the basket at him. He reflexively took it, and she walked off, clearly expecting him to follow. 

After a heartbeat, he did.

He watched her shop for a bit, their silence buried under the natural noise of the marketplace. Itachi frowned behind his cloak, pondering her comment. It would make sense actually. Kisame had always disappeared if he had cornered someone with an instrument in their travels, and the musicians themselves always had a somewhat pained expression. Previously he had assumed it was because of his nukenin status but now he was reassessing it. It… fit. He shook his mind free of the topic, instead turning back towards Sakura. 

Her belly was very obvious now, rounded and protruding. She didn’t walk so much as rock from side to side, enabling her to waddle forward, her smaller stature exaggerating her pregnancy. She chatted with a few merchants over their wares, each familiar with one another, but Itachi noticed all the merchants’ eyes nervously flickering to him—standing there silently in his ominous red and black cloak, slashed headband, and glittering eyes. He knew they were assuming the details between the pink haired woman, her pregnancy, and himself, but let them. The truth was far more obscure. 

“You know, you just might be a better shopping companion than my husband,” she stated as she settled her newest purchase—a lotus root that looked markedly healthier than the previous vegetables. “I’m able to go through my chores without everyone and their dog stopping us to chat and complain about everything under the sun, _and_ also I’m getting better deals than normal since you’re scaring them. Win-win,” She grinned at him. He noticed that she wasn’t wearing her expressionless mask again, and wondered why she kept switching between it as they conversed. 

“So you’re taking advantage of my reputation for personal gain,” He remarked, eyes scanning the crowd around them subtly, watching for both danger and subterfuge. The crowd of civilians left a bubble of space around him and her, not wanting to get too close to the nukenin, something that he was used to during his travels. He somewhat pitied his other self for once, since he didn’t think he’d like the lack of the accustomed space as he traversed through crowded marketplaces. 

“_Someone_ has to, might as well be me.” She flipped back to him. 

He blinked, and felt the need to laugh as she had caught onto his humor—a rare thing. 

“Tell me about how your husband was prospective Hokage.” He asked instead. 

“Hm, not much to say, really,” she held her stomach lightly as they walked the market to the next stall. “He was the best in the village, so was assumed to be for a few years. He was named such officially just a year ago, when the Yondaime declared he would retire.”

Itachi halted on his walk, and looked at her in shock, “The Yondaime was alive?” He couldn’t help but ask. He paused, then continued a little aghast, “And wanted to retire at age _46?_” He had always greatly looked up to the Yondaime as an example to live up to, someone who sacrificed everything he had for his village and loved ones. Having his admittedly pedestal idea of who the Yondaime had been having a desire to retire at such a young age countered that perception. It was like finding your father dressed as a clown sitting at your dining table one day. Not dangerous, but did not fit with the idea of the man. 

She giggled, “Well, now that you mention it, it does sound a bit ridiculous. He was elected as the youngest Hokage, presumably so that he could be such for a long while. But there was nothing in the rules saying he couldn’t, and rumor has it that it was because he wanted his son to eventually take the mantle. There are prohibitions in place from passing the title to one’s child directly, so I suppose my husband made the perfect gap fill while Naruto-kun matured a bit more, and besides that he’d have made a perfect Hokage.”

He stared at her, uncertain how to deal with the sudden and unexpected reveal. Uzumaki Naruto... was the Yondaime’s son? Pieces in his mind clicked into place, as well as an understanding of why this was kept hidden. He had been too young and still mostly isolated within his family when the Yondaime had died, and so he had never come across the man personally. By the time he graduated from the academy and entered into the proper Shinobi ranks as a chuunin, the Yondaime was spoken of only in reverent tones and had long since fallen out of the common gossip. He hadn’t even known the man had a romantic relationship. 

“I know vaguely that there is a Godaime already here,” Sakura came back to him, stopping neither too close nor too far. “Although I’m not sure how that happened, or who it is. I didn’t stick around Konoha longer than absolutely necessary, in case someone discovered me. By your comment, the Yondaime has died here?”

“The Yondaime died when I was very young, around five.” He watched her expression, the shock that fluttered across her green eyes. He felt no need to hide this from her, since he spoke only common truths, something anyone could discover if they looked. “The Sandaime took back the mantel until he himself passed. The Godaime is Tsunade-hime.” 

If she looked surprised before, it was nothing to what she looked like now. “Shishou?! They made _Shishou_ the Godaime?!” She sputtered, wide eyed and obviously taken severely aback by the knowledge. 

He tilted his head to the side, “You seem surprised that your mentor took on the position.”

“_Because_ she’s my mentor I know she’d, one, hate being Hokage, and two, would be a _terrible_ Hokage. She **hates** paperwork, which is most of the job, and hates responsibility even more, which is the whole _point_ of the job. It’s not even in the medical field, so she’d be out of her main training and skillset.” She gaped at him some more, as if he would surely reveal that it was a joke. He blinked at her instead. “Seriously, _who_ would put her forward as a candidate? She still was wondering around drinking and gambling in this world prior, right?”

He nodded, “As far as my awareness of the politics, it had been the counsel’s idea. There was… an otherwise lack of options, from my understanding.”

“My goodness,” she huffed, turning to look through the selection of meats. “I don’t know who to feel sorry for more, Shishou or Konohanin. And I’m certain that the counsel _quickly_ regretted selecting her. How did they even get her to agree? She never even visited Konoha in my knowledge of her.”

Itachi stilled a moment, recalling the time he had hunted down the son of the man he most admired, and tortured his little brother the same time. His mission had nothing to do with Tsunade at that time, so he didn’t know. His hand tightened on the basket, remembering the ghost sensation of Sasuke’s delicate throat. 

“I don’t know the particulars.” He hedged instead of speaking those thoughts, his voice giving nothing away. 

Her eyes flicked to him, but she dropped the topic and turned to finally greet the butcher and request her selection. 

Itachi turned to stare at the merchant, both to encourage a good deal and to avoid looking at Sakura. What had that glance meant? Did she realize the topic had brushed against his nukenin reality, or did she recognize his almost lie from his behavior? Both? Neither? Why was he here?

Itachi breathed out and hated himself more than a bit for remaining as she placed her purchase in the basket. 

“There we go. That’ll make a good stew for tonight.” She patted him on the forearm twice, and turned to make her way out of the market place and towards her hospital. 

He stared at his arm for a moment, tensed from the surprise contact. It had been a very long time since someone had touched him so casually. 

He forced himself to relax, and his feet easily caught up to her waddling gait. “How did you come to study under the Godaime, if she had not been made Hokage in your world?”

“Well, my jounin instructor, Umani Hanako-sensei, was a genjutsu type and she also had a hand for medical techniques. I took to the latter like a fish to water, and so was given supplementary training at the hospital early on. That’s… that’s where I met my husband a few years later,” he noticed she touched her left wrist as she said that. He wondered if that was where her supposed soul mark had been, a pair to the one that formerly graced her chin, “By then I was already almost exclusively working for the hospital, mostly on hospital management and minor trauma since there wasn’t someone there to teach more advanced chakra based medical jutsu. Not too long after we met, I found out about his—and by extension yours, I suppose—very rare medical condition, I knew there would only be one person who could help. So, I packed my things and tracked Tsunade-sensei down.”

Itachi breathed deeply without any pain, a testament of her learned skills, “And she took you on to become her apprentice then?” So far, her shinobi life was notably different here, even from the limited information that he knew about it. For one, she wasn’t the genin teammate of either Kakashi-senpai, Uzumaki, or Sasuke. 

“Of course not,” Sakura scoffed. “She couldn’t be bothered. So for a couple months I followed her around, until she finally tired of it, and demanded that I stop. So I made a bet: if she could hit me, I’d leave her alone. If she couldn’t, she’d do me one favor. At first I asked her if she’d come back to help my husband, but she outright refused, so I instead asked her to teach me one thing of my choice, until I was proficient at it. Unbeknownst to her, I’ve always been very good at dodging, and speed was a skill my husband focused on when we trained together. So, for a good hour, she was unable to land a blow on me, before she finally gave up and agreed that she’d teach me one thing if I just left her alone after.” Here she grinned, a sense of smugness coming through, “She was very unhappy to learn of my request, since it is not just a single technique like mending a bone or removing poison, but required a lot to build to it. Nerve repair, cell generation, stitching of flesh and so on. And so I ended up following her for two and a half years learning all the abilities required, and some other things along the way when she felt like it.” She tapped her forehead, where her Seal of a Hundred was. “This was a challenge, mostly because she wanted to see me fail at something for once. Showed her.”

Itachi tilted his head slightly, filing all those bits of information away, “You seem to have a somewhat contentious relationship with Tsunade-hime.” 

She shook her head, heading around the makeshift hospital to enter from the rear. “Shishou and I get on well enough, I love her and respect her abilities very much; she is the best medic-nin Konoha has ever produced, myself included as my abilities are largely based upon my nature chakra and not developed skills that I can teach others. She just has some beliefs that I very much disagree with; I could never abandon my Konoha like she did, and in my world, she has never come back.”

“Hm,” he hummed in agreement. Even as he was now, he placed the well being of Konoha above almost all else. 

She went to the door, going through her seals to unlock whatever trap was laid there, and said, “You’re welcome to stay for dinner if… oh.”

He left the basket behind, more full than it should have been. He had done far worse than steal a few vegetables in his life, and she needed to be eating better. 

**XXXXX**

Itachi was driving Kisame insane. 

After the Kazekage had been attacked, the other villages had dropped in their hiring of Akatsuki, as Leader-sama had suspected they would. They still had jobs, but it was notably less frequent, as it usually ended up coming from a private individual, or someone posing as a private individual. Leader-sama had already compensated for that, he assured from the last meeting, and so it was mostly a waiting game at this time. 

Itachi, as he had never done before, frequently went on his own way, undoubtedly to see that pink haired woman. Usually when Kisame and he had a period where they didn’t have a job, Kisame would find a suitable city with the things he enjoyed—a brothel and a casino being key features—and Itachi would just settle at some onsen hotel nearby and patronize the library and parks. It made for quicker response time when they got a mission again, being in the same city, and it suited the former Mist-nin just fine. 

Kisame was still certain that the woman was somehow pregnant with Itachi’s child, but his behavior didn’t seem to properly reflect someone who was happily expecting a child. Or unhappily, as sometimes it was. He just seemed to obsess over her; even when he and Itachi were together, hunting down someone or something from some ruin, a part of Itachi’s concentration was off, inevitably in the direction where the woman was in the Land of Tea. While his stamina had been notably improved since he had been hospitalized, with no reemergence of any coughing, his face was lined with tension—as if being in a constant state of worry. Despite this, he seemed more… alive, than he had ever before. More focused, more engaged in the world around him rather than just letting things happen around him. It was a good improvement, Kisame thought. It was certainly a better habit than his terrible attempts at music. 

To add to the mystery, whenever Itachi returned, it seemed like he and the woman had only minimal contact with one another, no more touching than a friendly acquaintance—which, for Itachi, was more than was common, but still strange for a romantic relationship. His clothing and hair never smelled like her intimately which, even though Itachi was a clean freak, not even _he_ could completely mask the scent of sex from Kisame for long. Sharks were not often discussed for their sense of smell, but that didn’t mean they weren’t masters of it. Kisame could smell something as small as a drop of blood from a hundred yards away—and much farther while in water. He, unlike the Inuzuka of Konoha, never really mentioned his enhanced sense; why give away one of his secrets?

It also wasn’t a usual habit of his, and some men refused outright, but Kisame knew first hand that sex with a pregnant woman was quite possible, and often times desired by the pregnant woman. So why did Itachi abstain, especially as he spent so much time and energy on her? He didn’t think it was because he was weirded out by the pregnancy: such men tended to simply avoid pregnant women entirely, as if it was contagious. Idiots. 

Kisame had tried following Itachi once, to see if he could gain information from her, and to test Itachi’s reaction. It hadn’t taken long before Itachi appeared before him, and told him she was off limits and to turn around. He had said it wasn’t Itachi’s place to control where he went during his off time. It had been the first time he and Itachi legitimately fought over something, a long and arduous fight—and it was only when he woke up that he had understood it had been the mangekyou the whole time. When he had awoken, there had been a blade buried hilt deep into the ground next to his neck, and Itachi was nowhere near. 

He had to concede the loss, and didn’t try to follow again—the warning taken as seriously as it was given. It both angered him, and unnerved him; one, Itachi was stronger than him by a wider margin than he had previously thought, and two, where had this woman come from to be able to, in less than a half dozen months, make Itachi go from utterly disinterested in her to willing to kill his partner of years for just going near her? He did acknowledge, however, that he had not been injured in anyway from the threat; Itachi’s pacifist nature likely peeking through, likely combined with the respect they had for one another. But he still had left the kunai in a clear message that the Mist nukenin was not stupid enough to challenge. 

Kisame had done a bit of digging, and one of his spies returned that the woman was very likely Haruno Sakura, apprentice to the Godaime and missing for about five or six months—roughly the same time she had started to follow them. What had triggered her departure from her home village? Her pregnancy was the most likely reason, he suspected, as she started to follow them while very early in her term, probably since she had first discovered it. Was she still an active Konohanin, and Itachi had returned to his home nation as a spy in the Akatsuki? If so, why now and what was he telling her? Konoha’s jinchuriki was still running around the nation like an idiot with only a few meager chuunin and a single jounin as teammates, so it certainly wasn’t about the plot to kidnap all the bijuu within the next few months. 

Further, Itachi wasn’t particularly being subtle with his developed obsession. He practically announced where he was going each time, and it was always the same. So he was either a spy, and trying to make his connection seem like something it wasn’t in a lackluster, moronic way, or it just wasn’t a spy situation at all, and there was another reason for the connection (something that likely would, or probably _had_, led to a pregnancy—somehow). Kisame’s contact in Konoha had been digging to find more information on Haruno Sakura, but so far hadn’t been able to get any good results. She hadn’t been declared a missing nin, which was odd but probably due to the fact that the Godaime was her mentor. Konoha often played favorites like that. This fact tipped the scales just enough for Kisame to keep Itachi’s obsession to himself for a bit longer—after all, it was far too obvious of a connection for any ninja to tolerate, let alone someone of Itachi’s subtlety. It had to be another reason. 

So where did that leave the two of them? The Godaime’s lost apprentice, impregnated by Uchiha Itachi, clan killer and one of the most powerful Akastuki members, who had arguably never had sex with her?

Kisame _hated_ not knowing. 

Itachi stepped lightly into the clearing where he had set up camp, his robes and hat donned against the cooling night air. Their relationship since the impromptu duel was more tense, but they still had an unspoken agreement between them, a truce that now had the woman written into the bylaws. He had been gone for about three days this time, and Kisame knew that it was only a little more than half days’ journey to the small village where the woman resided. Mist rose from the nearby lake, blanketing the area and helping Kisame’s sense of smell, and he breathed deeply—but there was nothing new about his partner’s scent, despite the overnight stay. Again. 

He grunted and tossed him the newest mission scroll, “Leader-sama had Konan send this personally, so we will leave in the morning.” He stated, hedging. It was a recall, a week’s journey from where they were. 

He watched Itachi read the scroll, red eyes glinting in the light of his campfire, “We can leave now,” He said, rolling up the paper before it lit up in flames in his hand, destroying the evidence as was standard practice. He turned and began to walk away, obviously not wanting to waste time. 

Kisame grunted again, standing to his full height. He had expected that reaction, and preferred leaving sooner than later personally, but Itachi hadn’t even fluttered an eyelash at the fact that this meant that the Two-Tails was about to be or had been recently captured, something a spy would certainly be much more concerned about than just the time away from their woman.

He would eventually figure it out, he _would_. He just needed one good clue.


	6. Dread

Sakura was humming. It was a light tune, meladeic, not something he had heard before her. He wondered whether it had been learned from her parents as a child, or from somewhere else, but he hadn’t asked. She tended to hum when doing chores, he had noticed in the time he was with her. He had been spending a lot of time with her recently. 

She was washing dishes, warm sunlight streaming brightly in through the window of the kitchen, making her pink hair shimmer as she worked. He knew that her hair smelled like strawberries and cream, from the brief instances that he had been close enough to tell. He often wondered if the tresses were as soft as they looked. A dark headed child was nestled sleeping against her breast, held there with a dark blue cloth. Only the tips of the messy hair was visible, the rest of the cloth almost hiding the child, pressed safely against her heart. 

Her humming suddenly cut off as her head lifted. She turned took to look in the direction of the front door, her lips twisting into a slight frown. He knew there were numerous triggers and sensors scattered all around her home, enough to give her a fair warning were anyone to approach, chakra hidden or not. She frequently had people drop by at all hours of the day, looking for some healing that they could have easily managed themselves, or should have gone directly to the hospital for. But she never turned them away, the foolish woman. 

“Ho-hum,” She said, “Let’s see who that is.” She wiped her hands on a dishtowel neatly before wrapping one hand around the bottom of the child and the other to smooth down the messy hair. Her step had lost the late pregnancy waddle, becoming easier, more graceful. 

There was a sudden knock on the door, a harsh thudding, as she entered into the hallway that led to the mudroom. “Just a second,” she called before stepping down into the entryway. She opened the door was a smile on her face, “How can I—” 

Her expression dropped into shock, because it was his brother who stood on her stoop. “S-Sasuke?”

He was much taller than he remembered as a thirteen year old, looming in the doorway with a backdrop of rolling black clouds. His clothing was dark, a white armored enhanced top over black, with a distinct style of bagging favored by Orochimaru. A blade that his spies had told him about, about how Sasuke started to train in Kenjutsu, jutted over his shoulder. His hair was dark, and still stuck up in the back—since he had been young, he could never be bothered to comb it.

But his eyes… one was black, normal Uchiha, but the other had creeping dark flames crawling around it, and it’s pupil was a dark yellow, slitted like a snake. They both widened fractionally, clearly surprised to see his believed former teammate, but then they narrowed, anger filling them nearly instantly. 

“You… Why are _you_ here?” He hissed. He took a step closer, crowding into her space, “Where is he?”

“Sasuke, I don’t—” She leaned back, her eyes wide and confused, for why would she be aware of Sasuke’s hatred? She hadn’t grown up with him, had only the limited knowledge that he had abandoned Konoha in this world. Not the reason for such abandonment, or where he had gone. No knowledge of how Itachi had psychologically tortured him to give him a driving force to continue on, even if that reason was hatred. She couldn’t possibly know what the dark marks scattered across his face meant, what training under Orochimaru for so many years meant. 

“**Where**, Sakura?!” His brother snarled, interrupting her, the black curse seal writhing on his face from his anger, “I know he is here! Everyone in the village says he comes here and—!”

Sasuke’s shouting had awoken the infant, and a distressed, thin whine emerged. The noise halted his brother in his tracks, drawing his focus. 

Sakura took a step back, fear beginning to creep over her face as she finally started to realize the danger. Her hands came up to protectively grasp the infant, trying to both soothe the cries and hide from the gaze. 

Sasuke’s face was blank for one moment, staring at the child, as if just now noticing the bundle. Then, almost visibly across his features, the connections were made in his brain. The rumors of his brother in this village, in this house. The presence of Sakura, a match to the description of the woman who the rumors said accompanied his brother around town. The dark, dark hair of the newborn infant, a clear nonmatch to Sakura’s own pink locks. 

Sasuke first flushed, then went white. His eyes turned to lock back onto wide green as they swirled into blood red, as cold as ice. 

“So…” he growled, voice almost over taken with hate and contempt, “He slaughtered his first family and then just decided to start his own?”

She shook her head, somewhat desperately. She backed up some more, but his brother only followed her into the home, invading the space. “Sasuke, no, you don’t under—”

“—As if it didn’t _fucking matter_ that **_he_** was the reason the clan was _almost extinct?!_ And, of all people, with **_you?!_** My own _teammate_?” 

The baby was fully crying now, clearly stressed from the anger and yelling. Sakura herself was wide eyed with fear, turning her body to try and shield her child as she stumbled away. “Sasuke stop! It’s not—”

His brother’s eyes swirled, agitated. The curse mark was blackening his features, his hair morphing white wherever it touched, his skin turning into a dark ash. His hand went to his sword hilt, and slowly began to draw the blade, not unlike Itachi himself had drawn his ANBU blade that night. “He killed everyone I loved, I guess it’s fitting I do the same to him.”

“ITA_CHI!_”

**XXXXX**

He jerked into wakefulness with the force of a punch.

Before he even took a startled gasp, he was on his feet, kunai clutched in his hand, having cut free of the entangled bedsheets behind him. He shook, unspent adrenaline coursing through his body as his eyes frantically scanned the room. His room. His hotel room, in the land of Fire, on the way back to his and Kisame’s territory after sealing the Two-Tails. His dedicated sentries on Sasuke had not yet reported that he had left the land of Sound, though there had been some unrest. 

It had been a dream. Another horrible, terrible dream. 

Itachi dropped the kunai and staggered to the attached bathroom, his legs wobbling as his energy suddenly drained from him. This was the third nightmare he had in the last week; they had been steadily increasing over the last month, usually some variation of Madara discovering Sakura. Nightmares of finding Madara holding an infant and covered in blood; of finding a message that read to the lines of ‘_So, you thought you could keep them from me?_’; of coming to the small farming village only to find it had been razed to the ground, his sense of her deserting him just as suddenly as it had arrived. 

But this was the first one to incorporate his brother. 

He flicked on the bathroom lights, eyes contracting severely from the sudden, harsh glare. He turned on the water, and stumbled into the shower, not even waiting until the water had warmed. The initial icy blast shocked him into further wakefulness, washing away the excess sweat and stench of fear. It chilled him, and he let it, running over his face and down his shoulders. The water warmed slowly, until it ran scalding over his head, steam beginning to fill the small space. 

Rationally, he knew his dreams made no sense. Sakura was a Sage—she was hardly helpless, even if he had not fought against her personally. If nothing else, she’d be able to flee from the situation, and he’d be made aware of it from their strange connection. Further, he had been very careful in the monitoring of the rumors from the village. One of the reasons he had liked that location prior to his… meetings with Sakura was that it was fairly isolated. As such, not many rumors came from it about strange visitors. Itachi had taken further precautions in that when he and Kisame were on task for the Akatsuki, they traveled through larger cities if en route, so if someone was hunting them they’d look there rather than further, more remote locations. 

And Sasuke would never… he’d certainly not…

Itachi leaned out of the shower and vomited into the toilet, mostly getting the bile from his dinner inside the rim, though some missed. He hadn’t been able to eat a lot last night, so it was largely an acidic liquid, burning the back of his throat. 

He loved his brother, and he felt that Sasuke could never kill a woman just for her connections, let alone any child. Itachi had even felt the need to _torture _him again at the age of _thirteen_ because he had believed that Sasuke needed the added motivation to kill him, and _he _had been the murderer of their family. 

But he didn’t _know_. It had been years since they last saw one another, years spent training under the twisted being that was Orochimaru. How much experimentation had the Sannin done on his little brother? How much of his humanity was left? Would he kill a woman and a child, who he believed to be related to his brother, the one who took away their parents, the one who was his torturer? 

And… if it came to it... would Itachi kill his brother to protect Sakura and the child? 

The fact he didn’t have an immediate answer for that horrified him. 

His stomach having expelled its last, he leaned back fully into the shower. He pressed his head against the cool tile wall, physically and emotionally drained, the almost too-hot water flowing down his back and hair. It hadn’t been enough that he already killed his heart and sacrificed his future for the village: Sakura and the unborn child were placed in the sacrificial pot next, through no fault of their own. Would they ever make it back to wherever they came from? Would Madara get to them first? ...Would Sasuke? 

His legs unable to continue to hold him up, Itachi slid down in the shower, sitting on the plastic flooring under the spray. 

What was he doing? He was not her husband, he owed no duty to her. He couldn’t even take her light, brief touches without flinching, and never dared to return the touches himself. Only gifting her ill gotten gains, which he knew she frowned on, as if it really made a difference. As if his help mattered. His presence was only increasing the odds that she would be discovered, be put into more danger, place her child into more danger. He hadn’t changed his plan to let Sasuke kill him for redemption, hadn’t even told her of it. He was going to just one day stop showing up without warning, and she’d have to be on her own in this cruel world anyway. What was the point in extending their contact a few more days, weeks, months? It was a miracle that it hadn’t been noticed by Madara yet, and it was only a matter of time before Sasuke came for him. 

She’d be better off without him, he knew. He was almost holding the dagger to her throat himself, with every moment he spent with her increasing the pressure. For what? His own want? He breathed steadily under the too hot spray, his lungs filling easily with the steamy air. He decided that wouldn’t bother her anymore, that he couldn’t burden her with his presence and his danger, no matter his own desires. He had made worse sacrifices in his life.

His heart felt like it was dying. He let it.

**XXXXX**

Something had changed. 

Kisame crunched on a salmon head, chewing as he contemplated on his partner, as was often the case these last few months. 

Itachi sat across from him, already having pushed away his largely untouched dinner. His cloak was neat and clean, not a hair out of place as typical. His eyes were red, expressionless; however his face was slightly waxy and the lines down his cheek were more severe than they had been. He also seemed to have lost some weight, though he never took off the cloak for Kisame to be certain. Itachi, notably, did not look in the direction a certain medic-nin was, which was more indicative then he probably wanted.

After the Two-Tails was sealed, the various Akatsuki teams were again granted some time to recuperate. Sealing took a lot of energy, and there were still six more beasts, each more powerful than the previous. They couldn’t afford to rush this. 

Kisame had planned on the fact that Itachi would split from him quickly once they reached close to Tea, and he would have traveled to a favored spot alone. But Itachi did not depart from him, and so here they sat, more than a week after arriving, in the hotel’s restaurant eating dinner. He didn’t bring her up, and Kisame didn’t ask, but he was _dying_ to know what had changed. Had there been some sort of message, a word to not come back? Did she get discovered by Konoha? Another village? No, Itachi would have gone off to kill people had she been taken by someone, like he had those nosy bandit groups. He had threatened to kill _him _for going near her.

The former Mist-nin ran through some numbers in his head, calculating the few points he knew and what he assumed. If his guess was correct, either the little fish had been born already, or was about to be. It had been about seven months since she first started to follow them, and almost four since he picked up Itachi from that stabbing incident, placing her right about popping. Had the little fish come already and died? Or killed the mother? Both? 

No, that couldn’t be it. The clan killer was many things, but he was not the type of person who was content with second hand information. He wanted confirmation for everything, as was often the case with genjutsu types. They had even breached the walls of Konoha proper itself, after the Sandaime Hokage died all those years ago, to see if the rumors had been true. If there had been a complication, Itachi would have gone to confirm in person. 

So why was he here, and not doing whatever he did with the woman?

There had to be some sort of outside influence. Something preventing him from going back. A threat? Pein-sama certainly wouldn’t care, he was the one to allow the Akatsuki so much freedom in the first place. Kakuzu was married with his own kid, after all, and Leader-sama hadn’t batted a creepy eye over it. As long as it didn’t interfere with their duties, they could do as they pleased. The rest of the Akatsuki were, frankly, not up to the level of abilities as Itachi was to be able to legitimately threaten him… except for one. 

Madara, of course. They had been at the Headquarters, and Kisame had been pulled aside by Pein-sama for a while, it had to have happened around then. The timing matched too perfectly. Madara was a Uchiha as well, after all, the grandsire of them all. He undoubtedly had some opinion about how Itachi had killed all but one other Uchiha, and naturally would have some opinion of a new one being born. Kisame was certain he had to have been involved in the slaughter somehow, as he was far too nonchalant about it otherwise. And the two Uchiha did have a blackmail scheme going on between them, the details still yet unknown. Madara had to have found out, and probably added a new layer of threat against Itachi, using Haruno and the little fish as his lever. It made _so much sense_. 

The sharkman swallowed his warmed sake, pursuing that line of thought of the threat, checking for cracks in the idea. Itachi had been routinely making appearances in more populated areas of the city, purchasing supplies or relaxing at a tea shop along a busy intersection. He had also done so in route, as if he was wanting a trail so should someone search for him, they’d be able to with few deviations. It was not unusual, and Kisame himself was hardly subtle as he passed through, but it had been just a hair more obvious than usual. Their distinctive cloaks were by design a fairly noticeable offhand advertisement as they passed through towns, but Itachi had not been wearing his uniform hat, as if he wanted to be better identified as Uchiha Itachi, and not just another Akatsuki. As his home village had a flee on sight order, and there were few bounty hunters foolish enough to try their hand, this meant the trail was intended for Madara, or Madara’s spies. 

His whore giggled as she refilled his cup, and Kisame grinned at her as he drank it greedily. This whore was his favorite, and one of the reasons he came to this offshoot Fire port city along the shore near Wave rather than the casino’s that dotted along the opposite edge of Fire near Sand. She was older, redheaded, kept her client’s secrets, and had an appreciation for fish that was not found often. The things he had seen her do to a troute… 

Itachi made no comment about the whore’s presence, which was typical, but had been watching her with more than his usual complete uncaring, which was decidedly not. He kept sneaking glances whenever he thought neither were paying attention, just the barest hint of emotion in his red eyes. Not really anger, Kisame thought, but maybe… resentful? Bitter? Envious? Yes… the latter fit, considering. Hm, well then. 

He placed an arm around her and pulled her closer, and she snuggled up readily, refilling both of their cups this time. Ah, warm women and warm sake were a few of his favorite things. 

“Why don’t you go get us another bottle, love?” He hummed into her ear. 

“Sure,” she slurred back to him. She pressed against him as she stood from their table, and he watched her rear appreciatively as she went to the bar. That was another favorite asset of hers. 

Kisame leaned back into his seat, and looked back to his long term partner. Itachi, also unusually for him, had a cup of alcohol, a warmed plum wine. He rarely drank, but it was something he had done more often on this period of leave than ever before; he probably should have noticed that tell earlier. 

“You know I’d cover for you, right?” He stated, flatly. 

The former Leaf-nin froze a moment, before his eyes slid over the top of his cup to stare at his partner. He met his gaze unflinchingly, despite the danger he now knew more acutely. He didn’t begrudge him the threat; they were monsters after all. It was almost expected that their partnership nearly required that level of violence, and that one day they’d turn on one another. Kisame knew first hand that betrayal was a very effective tool in the hands of a skilled shinobi. 

That day was not here yet for Kisame, and his offer had been in earnest. For as long as Kisame had known the clankiller, he had merely… existed. Gone through the motions of their missions, without a clear reason why. He knew of Madara’s blackmail, but even with that there was a certain lack of drive to him. Deidera did it for the art, Kakuzu did it for money, Hidan did it for his weird god, even Madara wanted to eventually enact eternal peace. Itachi needed something to drive him, a reason to continue to push, and Kisame felt that him having a woman and kid provided that, if the previous behavior was any indication. Maybe it made him a little more homicidal, but there was a give and take to everything in life. It was better than his musical attempts. 

Itachi set down his cup, then stood, placing the exact change for his meal and drinks on the tray, before he turned and walked away. It was a tell of his, firmly marking an end to a conversation that he felt had gone too far out of control. Kisame let him leave without protest, watching instead his movements to give better indication as to his thoughts. His movements were stiff, angry, as if he didn’t like the offer. Strange.

“Here we go, hun,” His whore said, returning. She clunked the bottle down, and semi-stumbled into her seat, already drunk from the previous bottles they had. “Where’d your friend go?”

Kisame shrugged, slicking his arm back around her and holding out his wooden cup with the other. That was a good question. He didn’t have Samehada with him, so he couldn’t track down the chakra to follow where he had gone. 

She filled his cup, “Well, if you don’t mind me saying, that man _definitely_ needs to get laid.”

“Haha!” He burst out laughing, “Truer words have not yet been spoken, love. Speaking of which, why don’t we go back to my room? Bring the rest of the bottle.”

Itachi can do what he’d like with the offer, they had a little while yet before they would be recalled. For now, Kisame would be busy with other things. He could figure it out later.


	7. Hiraeth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ending was planned from the beginning. So, uh, sorry.

Itachi wasn’t certain what awoken him this time. He was just suddenly awake, alone in his room. The darkened night sky was visible through the windows, and the hotel was as quiet as his typical remote choices tended to be. There was no chakra around him, no whisper of someone’s heart as they tried to skulk into his room.

He sat up and breathed into the quiet. It had been a while since the out of the blue offer from Kisame, and Itachi hadn’t seen him since, preferring to take the remaining time of his break independant from the scrutiny. He had stayed in the city, however, as the location was no better or worse than any other he could have gone to. There had been no reason for him to leave.

But what had awoken…

He stood up without sound, and began to get dressed, his movements unhurried and certain. He grabbed his bag, already mostly filled with his supplies as he never unpacked no matter how long the anticipated stay was supposed to be. He donned his cloak and his hat, before escaping out of the window. 

He ran. Slowly at first, darting along the dilapidated roofs of the shore city they stayed in, then faster as he hit the outlying farm lands, then even faster as he hit the open road. 

He ran for the day, then the next, stopping when necessary. He ran a curving path, not along major routes, not wishing to get delayed by anyone foolish enough to try their hand against him at this time. He didn’t rush, he didn’t run until he was ragged. He kept his pace smooth, calm, a ground eating pace that was faster than most would think, but still able to go on and on for hours. Just four months ago, he’d never have been able to maintain this pace for long, but now his breath was smooth and his legs swift. 

In the twilight of the third day, he made it to the far outskirts of the village. He made a large, slower loop of the surrounding area, checking for traps, tracks, or indications of nefarious activity. He found nothing he hadn’t put there himself. Good. He sat in the branches of the largest tree in the area, waiting until true night. Unlike previous times, this was not something that he wanted to be connected to. 

When he finally made his way to the village, it was very late, and the village was small enough that not even drunkards dotted in back alleys. The streets were deserted, quiet, still; everyone tucked away safely in their beds for the evening’s rest. 

He made his way to her home, to the backdoor away from the winding path of the main lobby turned hospital waiting room. 

Itachi ran through the seal pattern she had used, copied from that first time after the marketplace. With a nearly inaudible click, the door was unlocked before him. He had never entered upon her invitation… but that didn’t mean he hadn’t ever been inside. He breathed once, hesitating for the first time since he began his trek, before he entered into the darkened space. He hadn’t allowed himself to think of where he was going, what he was going to do while there, had left no message, and hid his tracks as well as he could. 

The mudroom was dark, with only a single pair of shoes tucked against the wall. He toed off his sandals, took off his hat, and placed them neatly aside in the cubbies provided. He walked into the home, his eyes allowing him to see easily enough in the darkness. A gift from the woman whose home he was invading, a tool that was so easily used against her. 

He knew the floorplan from his discreet explorations, so without hesitation he turned to walk down the hall to the sleeping chamber. It was a small residence, built into the same building as the rest of the hotel, made so the former owners could also be close at hand for any issue guests had and not for extravagance. His bare feet made not a whisper of noise against the wooden floor, and less when he stepped upon the tatami mats. The sliding door to the bedroom was rigged to make a noise if opened, but it was an easy enough trap to trick, so even that was silent as he opened it.

She was sleeping, as the late hour indicated she would be, and her chakra was also patterned in the smooth rhythm of sleep. Her back was turned towards the door and her hair was splayed across her pillow. He knew she wouldn’t have waited for him, despite sensing his approach, because he never before came to her after darkness fell. The light of the full moon sat in thick streaks across the floor, shining in through the high windows. He walked around the large futon, until he stood again at her head, this time being able to see her face. He slowly lowered himself to sit on his heels, placing his hands on his knees.

Her face was stressed, bags hanging under her closed eyes and partially covered by her hair. Her breath was deep and even, though her brow was just slightly pinched, indicating she wasn’t sleeping as restfully as she should be. He wondered if it was because she unconsciously sensed his presence, sensed the danger he represented and brought with him very much like the cloak he wore. 

He didn’t know how long he sat there, watching her, counting her breaths, waiting. He reached out, his hand far more still than his thoughts were in that moment, before finally settling on her hair.

It was softer than he had imagined it to be, almost like liquid silk under his fingertips. 

Delicately, he ran his fingers over her hair, brushing aside the strands in her face. He stroked her hair and danced his touch across her brow, her jaw, along her ear until the pinched look to her brow disappeared, and his fingers burned with the warmth of her. He thought her a fool to take comfort from his touch. 

His eyes finally dropped to the other sleeping person in the room, a baby so young its life would be better counted in hours than days. 

Loosely swaddled in a light cream cloth, the child laid next to his mother, only his still squished face visible. Itachi wasn’t certain how he knew the infant was a boy, but he did. Sakura’s hand rested on the infant, and he was so small even under her light, protective touch that her hand spanned his entire chest.

Itachi wondered if this was the first real sleep since the birth. It would certainly explain her deep slumber. 

Carefully, he lifted her hand from the child, and tucked it under the comforter. Sakura murmured something unintelligible, then reflexively curled up tighter, her now free hand pulling the comforterer closer in habit. He reached out again and pet her hair, until her shoulders relaxed once more. 

He paused again, breathing into the quiet of the night for a timeless moment. Then, even more slowly than before, Itachi reached out and brushed a single finger across the silky skin of the childs’ brow. He hadn’t been so close to such a young child since Sasuke had been born. 

However, he still remembered the lessons his mother had quietly taught him the morning she came home, as he picked the child up. Carefully supporting the weak neck, tucking the frail body into the crook of his arm, pressed against his chest to share warmth and stability. The newborn wiggled a bit, confined by the swaddle, his face twisting in involuntary movement as he was settled into the new position. 

The baby continued to squirm as he laid there, clearly now fully awake, so before he began to truly fuss, Itachi stood and left the bedroom, as silent as when he had entered. As he shut the door, he placed a muting jutsu on it. He didn’t want to risk waking the mother. 

He went back into the living room, making his way across the wooden floor to the obviously secondhand sitting chair there. He sat down, carefully cradling the child, and reached over for the small lamp placed on the table next to it. It flickered unhealthily, but stayed on after a moment. It was a soft light, weak but warm, and enabled him to see more clearly. 

The child’s eyes were just darkened slits in his face, and his expression changed dramatically with his senseless movements. Frown, scowl, wide yawn, a pout. The child was largely bald, only patchy wisps of hair in uneven lengths upon his tiny head. Pale skin, black hair. There was also… they were slight under the baby fat, but there were two very distinct beginnings of lines down his cheeks—features that Itachi saw every time he looked in the mirror. He ran a finger down the soft cheek, tracing one, and instinctively the baby turned to the motion. He blinked as the infant captured his finger to suckle on it. He ignored the warm, wet tracks that ran down his own face. 

He ignored how his breathing had deepened, how the air shook and rattled in his chest. The lump that balled in his throat, and that he had to swallow heavily to get around. The blur and sting to his eyes, the heavy thumps under his ribs. 

The baby suckled contentedly for a moment, for a few breaths, before scrunching his face and beginning his wiggling again, his arms and legs twitching futilely within the swaddle. He was too weak to really move his own head, but Itachi figured he was unhappy not to gain any milk from his suckling. Small grunts and whines began to emerge, and Itachi opened his own mouth to hush the child, ignoring the hot, tacky sensation of his tongue against his palate. 

“Shush, it’s alright,” he whispered, barely louder than a breath. He removed his finger and shifted his grip, delicately tucking the child under the folds of his cloak. He pressed him against his neck, careful to turn the head to allow the infant to breathe easily. He was soft and warm against his collarbone. “Shh, shh.”

He needed to move; his feet needed to step, needed action. The newborn would calm from the motion, he recalled. So he stood up and began to pace, his silent steps carrying him away from the weak light into the darkness in the room, turning and pacing back. He hummed, murmured, and soothed the grumpy baby, one hand easily keeping him in place and the other running up and down his back and smoothing down the downy hair. He was so small in his hands that he could easily cup his entire head into his palm—palms connected to hands that had killed more people than Itachi could remember. So small, so, so easily broken. 

The still unnamed infant whined and squirmed a bit more, but was quickly succumbing to the soothing motions and low hums. His tiny chest evened out with his breath, sleep overcoming him almost from one blink to the next. 

Itachi took his own deep breath as more tears fell hotly down his face. That _smell…_ he took another, pressing his face gently to the crown of the tiny head. He felt it invade his lungs, take a hold of his heart, and _squeeze_. He choked on it, wanted to bury his face in it.

He gasped, desperate for air, for control over himself, but instead gagged on his tears, on his desires, his fear, his longing and celebration and terror. His legs gave out on him, and he stumbled to his knees, and clutched so fiercely, so delicately, to the small being curled on him to ensure he didn’t even stir. 

He shuffled the remaining distance to the wall before collapsing fully against it, back pressed to the cold wall and knees drawn up to shield him from the world. He cradled the child—_his son_—to him, and cried. He cried harsh, wracking sobs that physically shook him, the emotions escaping him as they hadn’t since that night. That terrible night when he had sacrificed his future along with his traitorous clan and had finally succumbed to his emotions away from Madara, away from his brother, away into the border trees that marked the outskirts of Konoha. He cried for that future, he cried for the tiny, fragile new life he held, he cried for his wife sleeping in the room that should be theirs, he cried for his brother, and he cried for the unfairness of it all. 

This didn’t change anything, but it changed everything, and it _couldn’t_. He was still a fugitive from his village, with no hope to ever return. Sasuke was still out there, driven for revenge. Itachi had no future, but he couldn’t bring himself to abandon the lives here, to suffer from no fault of their own. To risk discovery by anyone, from Madara, from Sasuke, from all the forces at large who would seek to use his wife, his son and his bloodline for their own gain. 

Eventually, his sobs tapered until they finally stopped, leaving him dehydrated, drained and exhausted, but with a new, serene calm. He let his sharingan fade, feeling no need to keep it on. He stayed where he was for a while, hand running absently over the soft, patchy hair, until his breathing and heart rate evened out once more. He sat there until his son began to wiggle again, awoken once more, nuzzling into the skin of his neck with a searching mouth. He wiped his face, removing the tears and snot with the sleeve of his robe—a habit he usually detested in others, but couldn’t bring himself to care about in that moment. 

He stood then and went into the kitchen, hushing and bouncing the now lightly crying, unhappy baby. As he had suspected, there was milk in the fridge, labeled with neat lettering and small jars. He took the newest, and prepared a bottle, the memory of assisting his mother leading his hand. He remembered well, and had only a few false stops as he had to find various items scattered around the kitchen. His clones had never searched through the kitchen cabinets during their recognisance. 

He fed the baby, drank a glass of soothing water himself, and cleaned them both up before he walked to the mudroom. He took off his cumbersome cloak, hanging it neatly next to the rain jacket already there. He then made his way back to the bedroom with steps as silent and perfect as when he had first entered, even now despite his regular eyes. He disabled his own muting jutsu and entered, noticing that Sakura had rolled in her sleep. She now faced the door, hand outstretched into the empty bed before her, as if seeking something. He felt a pang echo through his chest.

Itachi walked to the flat topped dresser, where he carefully placed his coin purse, kunai, shurkin and holster from his leg, and lastly, his ring; his hand feeling lighter, freer, without the bulky item. It almost glittered in the fading moonlight, but he turned away regardless. Then, delicately shifting the now sleeping baby, he placed the infant down into his mother’s embrace. She sighed, and her arm retracted, wrapping around the baby. 

He then lowered himself down, and crawled under the comforter and onto the bed, curled facing his sleeping wife and son. He reached out and brushed Sakura’s hair back from her face again, curling delicate fingers along her cheek and jaw. She murmured something, and her hand reached back out to grip his forearm, shuffling slightly towards him before stilling again. He took a deep breath, inhaling the sweet, strawberry scent from her hair, and the particular, nameless smell from his son. The combined warmth from them both and the softness of the bed soothed and ensnared something deep inside him, and he knew he was done. 

He was just done. 

**XXXXX**

He hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but he somehow had. He knew that Sakura wouldn’t have appreciated waking to find him in her bed—they were still largely strangers. Breakfast, however, would have been a more appropriate overture. He had planned on leaving her and his son before they woke up, and waited in her kitchen for when they roused. Then... then they would have had a discussion, a true one, as they hadn’t yet. He would have told her of his reality, of his plans and schemes, of the things he feared and hoped for, and hoped for _them_. 

He didn’t open his eyes immediately, because he already knew the room had changed from his other senses. The mattress he was lying on had changed, becoming thinner, lumpy; the comforter had just completely vanished. The smells had changed, turned dusty and slightly sour; the temperature had changed, a chill to the air that could not be adequately explained by mere time difference. 

He opened his eyes, and the room was lit by the morning sun peeking in through the gap in the ceiling and the broken windows. He sat up and looked at the barren room, seeing his things sitting in a pile on the floor where the dresser had been. He had not heard them fall, and he knew that in his paranoia even the deepest sleep that something falling would have awoken him. He took a single deep breath, feeling strangely detached from his body. 

He stood, his limbs seemingly moving without his direction, and collected his things. He walked across the molded, fraying tatami, into the dusty, undisturbed hallway. The kitchen was just as disused, the refrigerator dirty and cracked open, a nest of some type of animal in the vegetable drawer. The cabinets were empty, and the sink dirty and rusted. There was a single, cracked glass set to the side of the sink, in the exact spot he had set his own glass the night previous. He pushed it slightly, and it left a ring in the dust on the countertop from where it had sat. 

He walked to the door that connected the residence to the hotel wing, and forced the jammed sliding door open. The hotel was just as abandoned as the home; empty rooms filled occasionally with forgotten furnishings, dust and dirt and proof of animal inhabitation. 

His cloak had also fallen to the ground back in the mudroom, the wall hook having rusted and broken into pieces under the weight. The sleeve still had slight staining from his own tears, but the spit-up was absent from the shoulder. He fingered the silk for a moment before he pulled it on, buttoned it closed, and slipped on his shoes—the only shoes in the mudroom. 

He didn’t know why he even bothered to check the village. He hadn’t been able to sense her since before he opened his eyes. 

It took him about a week to find Kisame again. He had moved from the spot at the ocean city, but they had been partners long enough that they had ways to find one another. Itachi, during his travels, had had a message delivered from one of his spies—a very particular spy—but had not opened it since receiving it. He knew what it contained. 

“Look who decided to show up,” Kisame snarled as he stopped before him in the clearing. The man looked rough, but had that self-satisfied look to him that spoke of a well-won fight. There was also the Four-tails slung over his shoulders, bound and unconscious. “You’re bloody _lucky_ I wanted to get this guy on my own, or I’d have told Konan that you were off shirking your duty, and you _know_ how Leader-sama is about that. Where were you?”

Itachi opened his mouth, paused, then closed it. Kisame looked angry, of course—Itachi had abandoned him shortly before they were set to be returned to duty—but he also had that particular fiercely curious gleam to his shark’s eye; he really _hadn’t_ known where Itachi had gone. Of course he didn’t remember. Itachi closed his red eyes and took a deep breath. 

“It does not matter,” he dismissed, his voice empty, “It will not happen again.” Never again. 

“Hmph,” He probably wouldn’t let this go easily, maybe even try for blackmail later, but Itachi knew it didn’t matter. “Now, Leader-sama is expecting us, we’ll need to get a move on.” He turned, and continued the way he had been, towards the cave where they’d extract the bijuu from the unfortunate man slung over his shoulders. 

Itachi breathed, his body still as numb as when he woke up, and glanced at the note in his fist that he knew would tell him Sasuke had finally left Sound. He crumpled it, stuffed it into his pocket still unread, and followed his partner. 

Nothing mattered; but he could take comfort in that it would be over soon. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, since people asked; SM-Sakura being here was an "error" in the universe. So, when the "error" was corrected, the universe adjusted things back relatively to the way they were. Itachi was exempted from this, since he had formed a soul bond with SM-Sakura, so _couldn't_ be adjusted to back canon. Had they never bonded in this story, this "error" would have passed completely unremarked by this world, with no one to the wiser.


End file.
